#finan x ofc
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timeless | final chapter
author’s note: this is the end of the road! to the ones who have been reading this story and who stuck around, i’m sending you all my love! thank you ❤️ hoping the ending will be just as enjoyable :) Lots of love and stay safe 💕
With a tidal wave drowning him at sea, Finan had woken up from his nightmare in a fright.
Body drenched in sweat, heart ragingly palpitating in his chest, the Irishman was catching his breath as the moon’s glow shone behind him, the timid light casting itself across the bedroom.
He felt pressure behind him, weight on his right; Becca had been pulled away from her sleep at the agitation shaking the bed. She quickly reached for him, her hand stroking his back as she leaned against him, bringing him to her.
“Finan-”
Chest heaving heavily, his stare remained straight into the void, his mind’s cloud slowly dissipating as his view acclimated to the darkness around them.
“Finn, love- are you alright?” She was gentle, knowing all too well not to either panic or rush. “Was it her?”
He reached for her, his fingers grasping tightly.
She moved around to sit in front of him, hands on his cheeks, as to direct his haunted eyes back to her. It took a moment, but he eventually fell into reality, the colour of her irises becoming the rope he hung onto.
“I-I’m fine.” He knew she didn’t believe him - he simply ignored it. He adjusted his sight, blinking and rubbing his eyes. His hand then rested on hers in reassurance, calmer. “I’m alright.” His breath had caught up and slowed down.
“It’s the first time she reaches out to you… She must have had something to say.”
“Nothing she hasn’t already said to you, love. It’s alright.” He kissed the heel of her palm and lingered into her touch. She could still sense his budding agitation, and so she dropped the subject.
Instead, she gently pushed him to lie down as she followed.
Face to face, she wrapped her arms around him, her leg following suit as she placed it around his waist, bringing him closer. He nuzzled his face against the pillow and the crook of her neck, breathing her in. All the while, she brushed through his hair, soothing him into sleep once more.
He had his arms curled around her as well, and his lips pressed on her neck - soft pecks that made her close her eyes in surrender.
His hand wandered around her naked body, the pressure increasing through every inch until it settled on her stomach.
She grew worried, feeling his fingertips grasping her as if they lacked air and needed it.
“Finan… What did you see?”
He was hesitant to answer, and so instead he said nothing, and kept himself in place as he caressed her skin tenderly, his eyes down and away from her.
She closed her own once again, the feel of his warmth bringing her peace despite the tumultuous awakening they were pushed into.
“Finn-” She whispered his name, the letters floating in the air, a siren looking for her sailor.
His eyes brimmed with tears when they met hers.
He moved, making it so he hovered above her while she lied on her back.
He leaned down and trailed gentle kisses from her lips down her body before meeting her again. Their hands joined, fingers interlaced, resting atop her head as he closed in the distance further, the budding strength of her body gently molding into his.
They locked eyes, the silence speaking the thousand words.
He nudged the tip of his nose with hers before caressing her lips and losing himself in the feel of her, forever tethered to her.
Through life and beyond death.
It was the crack of dawn when they hit the road, the sun slowly peeking through the horizon.
Still half asleep herself, Finan had taken the wheel, driving out of London and back to Bamburgh. Only days after his reunion with Thora, the goddess had sent her messenger to Becca; it was the falcon appearing at her windowsill that told her it was time, before it flew back North.
Her family’s place was further out so they decided to rent a room in town for a closer distance to the castle.
She was able to gather all items that would be needed for tonight; all that was left was to go back to the source, to Finan’s last place alive before the curse was enacted at his first death.
The drive was a quiet one, the radio playing through its schedule and embellishing the background.
Becca was falling in and out of sleep throughout the trip, her body having grown more and more tired the past couple of weeks. The effect of the sacrifice spell still seemed to have taken a toll on her, a lingering shadow in the dark.
They had been holding hands while he drove. Finan had quietly insisted, wanting every second of today to be near her, touching her. Fingers interlaced, she would smile to herself whenever she felt him stroke the top of her hand.
If she wasn’t asleep, she would spend her time awake looking out the window, the calmness of their surroundings helping her remain so as well.
“You okay, love?” They were half-way through, still morning as the sun was yet to reach its highest peak of the day.
She turned her head to him, sporting a lazy smile. “Mhmm.”
He brought up their joint hands to his lips, placing another kiss on top of their hold. She kept the small grin, appreciative of the silent gesture.
Still watching him, she bit the inside of her cheek, the upward curves of her lips still present. “What is the first thing you want to do after tonight?”
He had a beam across his face as he pretended to be in thought; he already knew his answer, having pondered over it more and more in the last couple of months.
He didn’t, however, get the chance to respond as she quickly stopped him.
She pulled her hand away urgently and placed it straight to her chest.
He frowned, confused. “Bex?”
“Stop the car.” She gulped, swallowing saliva as she held onto herself. “Stop-” She remained still, the car still moving though slowing down, while she tried to catch her breath. “Finn, stop the car.”
She had opened the door just as he was pulling by the side of the road, and fell to her knees, not even able to step a bit further away from the vehicle.
Nausea gripped at her insides - she thought her nerves, or at least motion sickness, had taken the best of her.
She then threw up, her lungs coughing for air.
Finan ran to her side, worry etched to his core.
With her head facing the ground, she didn’t see him but knew he was there by the way he had gently pushed her hair behind her as well as resting his hands on her, stroking her back through her episode.
Hurting at her stomach, tears welled in the corners of her eyes and echoed through the sound of her strained sobs.
Once it was over, with her breath heavy in her throat, she leaned backwards and rested against Finan’s knees.
From her back, he placed his left hand on her shoulder while caressing her hair with his right, pushing the strands backwards. “Are ya feeling better?” His voice was tender, softly spoken to her ear.
She could only offer him a nod, her head turned to her right, as she struggled to speak.
“Here.” He handed her a water bottle, which she happily took and cleaned up. “There is a stop along the way we’ll make. Are ya gonna be okay?”
“Y-yea.” He helped her get up, her hands gripping his jacket while she tried to find her footing. They remained still for a moment, the Irishman watching her carefully. She found her seat again, on the passenger’s side, and leaned backwards against the head rest with her eyes closed.
Without a word, he followed and resumed their drive until they reached their rest stop.
They got out of the car; she waited against the door while he went into the store attached to the gas station to pick up a few items.
Some short minutes later, he came out and walked back to her with hasten steps.
“What’s the surprise?” She teased while watching him rush back to her. He tried to smile, wanting to push past the discolour of her cheeks.
He was about to open the bag as she leaned over, perusing the contents that were inside. She chuckled while eyeing him, amused to see he could have almost emptied the store. “You really went all out, didn’t you?”
He only shook his head, snickering as well. She picked out the saltines, and quickly opened them before swallowing a whole of them.
She fell back against the car, relief traced across her features. Finan watched her, amused at the way she was devouring her snack.
Though the grin eventually faded, switching to concern.
He approached her and pushed locks of her hair behind her ear. “Bex…”
Her name hung silently in the air, unable to sing any further.
She met his gaze with a small smile gracing her dried lips. “I’m okay.”
He sighed heavily. “You’re not okay, love. The colour’s drained from ya- Was it the spell? Is it still making you tired? Or is it-”
“I think it’s a combination of everything.”
Another exhale, he nodded quietly.
He then placed his hands on her shoulders and placed the softest of kisses on her forehead. His arms trailed down to her back, rubbing to calm her as he pulled her against him. “Are ya feeling better at least?”
She dropped the saltines back in the bag before hugging him. “Just a little bit.” She tightened her hold around his waist and stayed still for a few minutes, letting the breeze carry them in this scene.
She hid her face in his chest, breathing him in, content; if she could, she would stay like this forever.
But unfortunately, time was of the essence.
Today was the day and she could not miss the window of opportunity.
She reluctantly pushed herself away and ran her fingers through her hair.
He gave her one last kiss, his lips pressed to her cheek, and walked to the driver’s seat, looking back at her.
“You ready?”
As they entered the small bed & breakfast room they had rented for their stay, Finan had gone straight for the bed and sat down at the edge, exhaustion draping over him.
Becca closed the door behind them watching him as he lied down and stared at the ceiling; a small smile escaped her lips.
She walked over to him and stood between his legs. Feeling her in front of him, he sat back up, a grin plastered on his face.
He silently placed his hands on her hips, his thumbs circling the skin under her shirt. Her own fingers threaded through his hair, their gaze entwined in a silent waltz.
He leaned closer towards her, lifting her shirt further up until she felt his lips pressed against her stomach, right above her navel. She giggled at the feel of his beard tickling her.
He lingered, tightening his grip ever so gently to her body.
In exchange, she tugged at his hair when his warm breath hovered above her skin.
She then sat down on his lap, straddling him. He wrapped his arms around her just as her hands rested on his cheeks. She brushed her nose with his before sharing a tender kiss. He pulled her closer, flushed against him.
His fingers sought her out under her shirt as they traipsed towards her back. The gesture made her sigh between their lips, shivers running down her spine.
She broke the kiss, entertained by his mood. “Are you trying to undress me, Irishman?”
He chuckled as he quickly pulled her back to him. “Is it that obvious?”
“Unless you have another explanation as to why you’re tugging at my shirt?”
“Just examining ya. Making sure ya are well.” He teased, still holding onto her as he trailed his mouth down to her swollen breasts.
She could only giggle, her small fit of laughter mixed with her reply. “Of course, that makes perfect sense.”
He pressed his lips against her covered chest before suddenly turning around and making her land on her back against the mattress. She met him with a gasp, taken by surprise, and yet the grin plastered on her face could not escape. “Finan!”
He met her gaze, the mischievous glint in his eyes as apparent as the sun. “I’m sorry, love. It’s a better view from up here.”
“You are incorrigible!”
The rumble of his laughter vibrated against her skin as he settled on top of her, placing kisses all over her exposed flesh.
She fell into the ticklish sensation, not able to stop the fit of laughter that dressed the room - until hunger softly grumbled inside her.
Hearing the disruption, he lifted his head up with a smirk captured on the corner of his lips. “Someone’s a bit peckish.”
She sat up as he pulled away. “You bring it out of me, what can I say?”
“How about some room service?”
“I’d love that.” She softly kissed him, simple and loving.
He got up and turned around to reach the phone that was on the dresser, opposite the bed.
While on the line, with his back facing her, she quietly started to undress. She stripped her clothes off, quietly throwing them on the floor, before she slipped under the covers and waited for him.
Once he hung up, he turned to find her with her back against the headboard, sheets covering her body though she teased him with her right leg exposed to him, knee bent in temptation. All the while, she wore a sly smirk, her teeth biting her bottom lip. “We can keep ourselves busy until the food arrives.”
He matched her stance as he removed his shirt and unbuckled his pants before jumping on the mattress, earning a laugh out of her lungs.
He pulled the covers off her, exposing her bare upper body to him before he found her lips.
She wrapped her arms around him, smiling into the kiss and giggling at his eagerness as anticipation seeped through her as well.
Not long had passed since their arrival into Bamburgh.
Finan was first to wake up from their nap, where the afternoon light peaked through the curtains.
He carefully readjusted himself, not ready to leave the bed.
He sat up, sitting against the headboard and looked to his right - Becca was still deep in her sleep.
He started to gently stroke her hair, his mind adrift to tonight, to tomorrow, to the day after that.
The soothing feel of his touch slowly brought a smile to her face as she was waking up from her slumber.
She quietly lifted her eyes up to find him lost in his thoughts, his head tilted to the ceiling; chest bare, cross dangling on his chest, bed sheets covering his lower half - what a sight, she thought.
She let him be, where his hand was still tangled in her hair.
It felt too good to stop.
A low satisfied moan escaped her. The soft noise caught his attention as he dropped his head to her, his mouth curved upwards in a lopsided smile.
She stretched her left arm, caressing his cheek before her fingers settled on his necklace, gently calling for him. “Come back down here.”
Without a word, he laid down and turned so his chest was pressed against her back. He wrapped his arms around her, settling comfortably before instinctively reaching for her stomach, his palms caressing her.
They stayed this way for a few minutes, bathing in utter quietness.
She pushed herself further against him, loving the way their limbs molded so harmoniously into one another. Following her, he lifted his head just high enough to press soft kisses along her shoulder to the crook of her neck. His hand then started to wander up and down her skin, hiding under the covers. He could never get enough of the softness of her flesh; she was warm against him, her complexion glowing more fervently than usual under the sunlight.
“We had a son…” His voice startled the atmosphere, though he spoke with a low undertone.
“What? W-when?” She turned around within his embrace, facing him with furrowed brows.
He chuckled and shifted to lie on his back, his right arm still holding onto Becca.
“It was a dream…” His gaze landed on the ceiling once again as he kept going. “There was a wee boy running around with a wooden sword, outside somewhere. It felt like we were having some kind of picnic at the cottage house or something.”
She was grinning as she followed the tracks to his daydreaming.
She turned to lie on her side, her elbow against the pillow with her left hand supporting her head. “A boy, huh?”
“Our boy.” His eyes went to her as he brought her closer, every inch of their bodies pressed to one another.
“One hell of a dream you had there, love.” Fingers traipsed along his jawline, her own mind wandering.
“Can ya blame me?” The smirk on his face had made her quietly laugh against him. She was overwhelmed by the thought, by the desperate need of wanting it all, now.
“We have a boy.” She mumbled her words joyfully in the air, mesmerized.
“We do.” The way he smiled at her left her heart stumbling across the pavement, still taken aback by the way he could take her breath away. “I can’t wait.” She bit her bottom lip as she spoke up, giddy. “What else happened in your dream?” She placed her leg over him, using his body as an anchor as she hung on to him.
He shrugged - there wasn’t anything else to say. “Nothing, it was peaceful- just us…”
She started trailing kisses along his arm to his shoulder, nipping at his skin tauntingly. “Were we trying for a second child at least?”
“You menace.” He spoke with a crooked grin and placed his hand to her abdomen, gently caressing her. She turned to lie on her back without looking away from him; his palm rested carefully on top of her, not letting go, as he quietly searched for her eyes. Searching for the silent words that raced around her irises, dancing so intimately and only for him. The thought of moving on with his life, the mere inkling of even the possibility of having such a life with her, overwhelmed him, imminent to burst at the seam.
She grew timid, heat creeping up to her cheeks. She approached until she met his lips, sharing a slow kiss - a gesture that left them chasing after one another.
Becca eventually had to break away, though remained reluctant in her endeavor. “We should get going soon…”
He sighed, knowing they did not have a choice. “I know. Just…” He kissed her once again and spoke between their breaths as he slightly strengthened his hold on her. “Just a few more minutes.” He was quietly begging, desperate to make this very moment last a little bit longer.
She silently agreed, placing her hand on his.
He inhaled, a sudden heaviness in the pit of his stomach crawling inside him. “Will it be safe? The spell…” He asked gently, frowning. He still touched her, his fingertips stroking timidly her burgeoning puffiness.
“I don’t think the gods will harm us.” His worry, etched across his features, she retraced them in the hopes to calm his nerves. “She is here to help. She’ll make me stronger.”
Her words eased him a bit, his gaze never wavering away from her.
She was in awe - the intensity of his eyes always left her breathless, swimming in the vastest of ocean without ever feeling lost or incomplete.
Her thoughts were swirling inside her mind, still conjunct with the earlier minutes.
She was abruptly shaken out when something caught her attention.
He saw the gears in her head, the look in her eyes portraying shock and confusion. She pushed him away, hand against his chest, to widen her view.
“Wait, did you say wooden sword?!”
He laughed, his voice booming within the walls of their room. Unable to catch him, he had quickly jumped out of the bed and ran to the bathroom. She called for him, completely dumbfounded, and could still hear his cackle on the other side of the door.
“Finan!”
The sun hit its pinnacle of the mid evening hours.
While waiting for Bamburgh castle to reach its closing hours for the day, they had decided, in the meantime, to spend their remaining time walking around the small town.
The normalcy of the moment had taken over, making them partially forget what was waiting for them in the coming hours.
The trail they had taken eventually led them towards the waters, the waves of the beach reaching the shore in a fiery dance, its feet tip tapping across the sand’s surface.
The couple pulled themselves away from the dying crowd, wanting their own privacy as they settled on the ground.
Side by side, she laid her head on his shoulder as she brought her knees up, the best she could, against her chest. Finan placed a small peck on top of her forehead before looking towards the sea, memories of his past flooding him like a storm.
As for Becca, she could only think of tonight; her mind had wandered, fear taking its opportunity to sneak back and rest heavily on her chest. She felt it in the back of her throat, the lump lodged with strength as it shook her, forcing tears to grip the corners of her eyes.
The dread weighing on her shoulders had pushed her away from him. She turned to look at Finan, the man still left in deep reverie himself.
It wasn’t just revisiting the lifetimes he’s lived anymore. The path had taken him to ponder over what he would do next - as of tonight, he would be a free man.
He could finally live the remainder of his life and find peace at the end. And he would be living it with her, the only woman he had fallen for in the last millennia.
What would come next was finally his choice.
He was brought out of thought when she spoke, her voice quivering against his shoulder.
“Finn… I’m scared.”
He tilted his head to her, understanding the intent behind her words.
He remained silent, letting her speak further.
“If-” She took a second, breathing in deeply. “If I fail and the spell doesn’t work-” She closed her eyes, biting down her tongue before proceeding, desperate to let her words out the way a bandage is ripped from the skin. “I’m scared that if I fail, you would grow to hate me. To resent me and leave me…”
He furrowed his brows. “Why would ya think that?”
“Because I would have given you false hope.”
“Nothing will ever change the way I feel about you.” He pressed his forehead against hers. “I swear it.” His hand rested on the back of her head, palm caressing her hair, before he placed a kiss. “I’m grateful you were willing to try.” He gingerly pulled away, catching the glimmer of tears in her eyes. “Despite the obstacles we kept encountering… Ya did not give up on me.” The recollection of memories of the last year had suddenly washed over him, a haunting of a ghost. “I could never hate ya for it.”
The was solace in his words; she tried to find them.
“What about when I die, and you are still here? Would you resent me then? Would you curse me ‘till the end of days?” She tried to lighten the mood with her last words, even though her heart wore her heavy.
“You have power, Bex. I can feel it.” Once more, she dug for the comfort in his voice, searching for warmth so she could hang onto it. “Believe in it.” He reached for her amulet, holding it gently in his hand. “Believe you can channel this and break me free.” The soft undertone shaking his cords sent shivers down her spine. The letters of his speech shared between their parted mouths, she grabbed onto them and squeezed them tightly.
“I’ll try.”
She promised herself she would. She had also told herself there was another way at this. A way she wanted to share with him.
“But if it doesn’t work, will you let me join you?” He frowned, confused. A quiet crooked smile tainted her right cheek. “Will you let me curse myself, so you won’t be alone anymore? So, we could spend forever, together?”
She rendered him speechless.
It had to come this, and it saddened him. How could he become the reason someone else was willing to give up everything for a poor soul like himself?
“Our love could be timeless. Wouldn’t that be romantic.” Once again, she tried to lighten the grimness around them, the curve of her lips faintly spreading across her face while hiding the depth of her confession.
He chuckled at her attempt. “It’s a tempting offer… And I love you for even thinking of risking ya life for me.” The smile faded away from him. She could see where he was going; it was too obvious. “But I can’t let you do that.”
“Finan, I want to do it. If it comes to it, please let me do this.” Tears pricked her cheeks, grief-stricken. “Don’t make me live in a world without you. I don’t want us to be apart.” She whispered her plea against his breath, silently crying.
He felt her cheeks wet as he kissed her, both desperate and sorrowful.
Even if it meant desecrating the order of nature - the one thing a witch should never do - she would give it all up for him.
He pulled her backwards until they lied down, not caring that they were resting on the sand.
His arm curled around her shoulders, she hid herself within his embrace and let her emotions silently erupt out of her. Her fingers grasped onto his shirt, her knuckles whitening at the force of her hold.
The sound of the waves had become background noise, made for their ears only.
The crowd was dying down, the people walking away as the day was coming to its end with the sun sliding under the water by the horizon.
His head was up to the sky, the warm hues colouring his sight.
His heart was breaking.
Part of him hated himself for having started all of this, or at least for having encouraged their relationship right at the start. It shouldn’t have gone the way it did - he tried to convince himself but knew, in the end, it was futile. He was hooked on the first night, and then again when he purposely encountered her, and once more the first ride to Bamburgh, and every day since.
But that other part, the one that fell for her, that loved her with such depth, could not see it any other way.
She was made for him. Their connection so innate, so intuitive from the first glance to the first touch. He believed she was a blessing to his mundane and lonesome existence, the bloom of spring after a brutal winter.
He had stumbled along the way since he met her, but she stuck to him no matter what and it left him overwhelmed.
Their little moment was interrupted.
The cries of a falcon hovered above them, its wings flapped against the breeze of the ocean before it settled behind them, perched on a rock.
Becca pulled away from him, both sitting up as she tilted her head to see the bird.
She clenched her jaw, eyes closed.
She breathed in, calming her nerves, before turning back to Finan. With a reassuring smile on her face, she placed her hand on his cheek.
“It’s time.”
They were waiting inside the castle as tourists scurried away at closing time. And as he knew his way around, Finan had made sure they would be able to sneak away, turning into ghosts within the walls.
It took a while, not that they were complaining.
Only when the moon was ready to reach its peak did they finally leave their hiding place and made their way outside.
And it seemed the falcon had been waiting for them.
Becca followed the bird, making them cross the inner ward until it flew further up, reaching the flagpole above the Keep. They followed suit and reached the highest point of the property, where the view of darkness surrounded them with only the moonlight guiding them.
The bird gave its last call before flying away, leaving the couple to start.
Becca sighed, her heart rapidly beating inside her chest.
“Ya ready?” His words rang in her ears. She looked to him, partly terrified at the upcoming moments that would unravel.
Midnight was approaching.
They shared one more kiss, lingering within each other’s embrace for a little while longer. She held him, hands to his cheeks, and quietly whispered into his lips. “I love you.”
A faint smile flourished across his face.
“You can do this.”
She nodded at his words and proceeded.
She looked through her bag and started taking out a vial of salt - blessed by the high priestess of her coven. Back up to her feet, she looked to Finan, wanting a quick glimpse of him. She then continued, using the salt and marking the ground with runes in a circular motion, following the path of time as her mind fell into focus.
And then the circle was sealed with intersecting lines, the final touch to call the goddess.
Once complete, she cleaned her hands, the palpitations in the pit of her stomach growing heavier.
She took a deep breath, a slight tremor apparent in her lungs. “Now comes the part where you need to step inside.” She stretched her hand out to him as he followed her instructions, taking his place in the center.
Becca stood still for a second, squeezing her hold on him, before eventually letting go, a cold sensation suddenly wrapped around her palm.
She fetched the remaining ingredients - a candle, her dagger and the totem representing the hex.
As she held the last item in her hand - a ball of rope, tightly tied into a knot with its loose ends ever so slightly peeking out from each side - her breath shortened in her lungs.
She was holding Finan’s liberation in the palm of her hands. The knot was a simple representation of his lifeline, stuck in a loop, his true path blocked.
All she needed to do was to re-manipulate reality, to untie the knot and set him free.
She placed the candle at her feet and approached Finan, her knife and totem in hand. “This is going to hurt.”
“Don’t worry about me, love.” The softness in his voice captured a smile at the corner of her mouth.
She lent him the knot as she took his left hand, palm up, and carefully used her dagger to cut through his skin. A subtle hiss escaped his lips; she clenched her jaw, her heart trembling. She then helped him close his hand, the blood dropping straight onto the knotted rope, staining the texture with his essence.
She repeated the process with her own hand. She was about to cut her own skin when Finan stopped her, gently placing his unmarked limb on her own. “Let me.” He took the dagger as she remained quiet, and let him cut her palm. Despite the gory gesture, there was a certain tenderness to the act.
The blood seeped from the bruise, falling onto the other side of the totem.
Becca whispered under her breath as she watched the knot’s colour change. “Blood of the cursed, blood of the blessed.”
Once the totem soaked under its rain, she fetched a small piece of cloth. He took it from her hand and ripped the piece in half, wrapping her wound first before she repeated the gesture for him.
She then tilted her head up to Finan. The look in her eyes let him know it was truly time.
He brought the back of her hand to his lips, sharing the softest of kiss. And without letting go of his hold, she leaned in, pressing her own lips into his.
She backed away out of the circle and sat on her knees.
The ball on her lap, she placed the candle in front of her and called for light.
The stem lit, its fire casting shadow around its body.
She exhaled, a heavy breath to calm her nerves.
She picked up the totem, the object resting between her hands.
“We begin.” She spoke with a firm tone, her back straight, her mind focused.
And at her words, the seal came to life, the salt burning as flames decorated the ground.
Finan remained in the middle, quiet and watchful. Trepidation stemmed from his fingertips, the throbbing pain in his hand completely ignored.
The language of the gods slipped smoothly across her tongue, her voice carrying out as she called for her favour, the heftiness of the plea echoing through her bones and shaking the earth underneath.
The fired seal grew taller around Finan, leaving her to become almost a mirage to his eyes; she was channeling the energy of the flames, the particle of embers lacing their way through her fingertips and colliding with her magic in an unparalleled percussion.
The knot levitated a few inches above her hands, the threads of the spell woven subtly through the air and holding the item in place. Glowing in the dark, a faint golden sheen, it was the shimmer of the lighten strings that came to life as they danced around her fingers while the young witch was, once again, invoking the celestial power - the one she anchored to her own strength, to severe the link.
To untie the knot and reverse the coerced bond that was, to set free the man that was wronged.
As the chanting boomed through the core of her being, shining violet seeped through her irises, settling as a new inhabitant. Her amulet, heated chain around her neck, held a similar path, its purple hue creating light around her.
A faint breeze rushed around him, heightening the flames that imprisoned him on the seal.
Slowly, the totem started to detach itself from its confine, unfastening its intricate knots.
She was trembling.
A tremor, a subtle shake like the earth, transcended through her bones.
Channeling the powers of a god, for her mere mortal flesh - it was too much.
It was working, but the weight of such strength echoed through the vibration of her body.
While he could hear her, the sound of her voice standing in his ears, he also saw the toll the ritual was taking on her.
She was about to crumble, thinly cracked at the seam.
The nosebleed was apparent, trickling down over her lips to her chin.
Her breaths grew heavier, her dizziness taking hold of her mind, of her eyes.
And yet, she couldn’t forfeit.
She heard her name, his voice calling for her with terror and anxiety rushing through him.
He tried to move, to run to her, but she stopped him, pushing him back with her mind’s eyes.
One step out and everything could be lost.
The knot still floated, following the trance of her chant, like a snake swaying to the flute of its master.
Her voice grew louder and louder through the air.
The chain of her necklace burnt her skin, the stone fracturing through every repeated syllable of her spell.
He could feel the magic work through him, the blood receding from his veins as he grew cold. The tightening hold that choked him for so many centuries was loosening, the grip around his neck fainting until it eventually let go.
The burden of the curse was turning into dust, the remnant pieces drifting away from the Irishman’s skin with the wind pushing them to the flames, burning their essence on hellfire.
And then - the totem resolved, the knot unknotted.
It was done.
The ritual completed.
Everything became dark once again, the blaze gone, the wind vanished. The rope lying flat on the floor.
Only Finan and Becca were left.
Weakness overtook her muscles; she almost crashed to the floor as she was catching her breath.
She leaned over, using her hands as an anvil against the ground to hold herself from complete collapse.
Only her lungs serenaded the empty air.
Finan stood still, dazed. Overwhelmed.
She saw the trickle of blood falling on the stones beneath her. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand, the traces vivid on her limb.
When trying to get up, Finan ran to her, helping her.
Once she was on her feet, she held on, her fingers grasping at his shirt, her eyes back to normal.
Her amulet had reached the ground at her movement, the chain broken.
He frowned as he bent down to pick up the necklace.
He watched it, silent. The gears in his brain working through a thought.
“You gave up your magic for me?”
“A small price to pay.” It was a tired smile that graced him.
She did it.
She broke the curse like she had promised.
He was a free man.
As their new reality dawned on them, a small laugh escaped him.
She followed suit, a grin forming on her stained lips as joy reached the pit of her stomach.
On a high, she ran to him, and he caught her in his arms, embracing her figure tightly against his chest.
“You did it.”
He whispered against her hair before crashing into her lips for a fervent kiss. With his arms curled around her, he had lifted her from the ground.
She squealed, taken by surprise. A light giggle had escaped the back of her throat from excitement.
Her feet touched the ground again, though they hadn’t let go of each other yet with their lips still tangled, heated.
Just a few more seconds of bliss.
“Let’s get out of here.” She spoke, breathless.
He smiled, a beam so bright, biting at her bottom lip before pressing his lips again against hers, and then pulling away.
The last thing he felt was the touch of her hands in his as she stepped back to clean up the mess around them.
He felt a sudden stiffness in his neck. He rolled his head around to dissuade the discomfort until he became lightheaded, the vision in front of him blurring.
It was almost blinding him when he heard Becca call for him, his name turned into a question.
He shut his eyes tight, trying to get a hold of himself when he felt a wet trail running down his nose.
He felt his muscles grow weaker, as if they were depleting.
When opening his eyes, he met a distorted horrified look on Becca’s face.
He tried reaching for her but couldn’t feel his body move until the weight of it dragged him down.
“Finan!”
She caught him as they both fell to the ground. She called him over and over again, trying to reach his consciousness.
He couldn’t speak, his voice - gone.
But his perishing sight was set on her, his ears aching at the pain; she was yelling, screaming at the top of her burning lungs with tears furiously streaming down her cheeks.
“Bex?”
She looked down at him, frowning, her chest heaving. Her hand caressed his face but could not see her name coming from his lips.
“Bex, love?”
His voice stood as clear as the night sky above them.
She lifted her head up and saw him standing in front of her, confused. “What happened?”
She bit her tongue.
She then got up to her feet, her body trembling.
“Y-you di-”
How could she finish her sentence? The weight of the word stood heavy on her heart, unable to ring it out into the world.
It held such destruction, a wrecking ball destroying everything around them.
The look in his eyes was enough for her to know he understood.
He shattered, his heart breaking into pieces.
A sob caught in her throat. “I-I’m so sorry- This wasn’t supposed to h-appen.”
Denial, hefty in its wake, she fell to the ground again, her mind working a resurrection spell - anything to bring him back.
But of course, it wouldn’t work.
She reached for her amulet but clutched at the ghost of it when she saw the stone on the floor.
Bewildered, eyes wide, she lost her breath as she whispered under the last of it. “What did I just do…”
She was powerless, and so, she was unable to save him.
“It’s okay…” There was no harshness in his tone. “We’ll be okay, love.” He needed her to believe it, his new reality squeezing itself between them.
She snapped, looking back up to him.
“No, it’s not okay! We need more time- I needed more time w- with you.” The lump in her throat was lodged tightly, invoked.
He approached her, hand to her cheek in a soft caress, ignoring the empty sensation. “Ya are an incredible woman.”
She scoffed, angry.
“Not enough to make you live out this lifetime.” Tears trailed her cheeks again, quivering from anguish. She leaned into his attempted touch, trying to feel his warmth. She hesitantly met his gaze - his hues still managed to give her such love, she could feel herself crumble from inadequacy. Undeserving. “We were doomed from the start, weren’t we?”
The disillusion of it all was killing her on the spot, torturing her.
“Finn-”
Words evaded her, sentiments unable to speak out.
“I know.”
He wasn’t angry, nor was he furious.
He simply mourned; sorrow reached the deepest parts of himself, from the marrow to the surface.
She collected herself - or at least, she tried. She wiped her tears, not able to look at him anymore, ashamed of her failure, and backed away to stand up again.
“You’re free now… You can find peace.”
He swallowed heavily. “Is it really peace without you?”
Eyes shut tight, she was silently crying again.
The thickness of melancholy wore her like a coat, suffocating her in this unruly heat.
He reached for her again, desperate to touch her and comfort her, to wipe her tears away.
He found he wasn’t able to feel her.
Nor could she.
He tried again, his hand trailing down to her stomach as he leaned against her, attempting to feel her breath against his lips, any sign of movement at all.
It was faint, almost undetectable.
Unfocused, he wouldn’t have felt it.
“Finan, I-I love you.”
Shaky, destroyed, broken.
The wind was knocked out of her, completely gutted.
“I love you too.” It was a mere whisper, loving and inconsolable in its undertone.
And then, he was gone.
His ghostly presence vanishing as if, for all the cruelty in the world, he was never here at all.
She held onto herself, the best she could, but found no strength.
She collapsed on the ground, head resting atop his lifeless body as her cries shook the waves of reality.
The next week was a blur.
She was a corpse walking amongst the living, an icy dread in the middle of the warmth of budding summer.
“Don’t you think it’s a little bit rash?”
Her brother was by her side, his eyes reading the engraved tombstone; it was the day of the funeral, and they were three.
The sun was at its peak, ignoring the welting sorrow that beat down on Becca.
She stood in her family plot, gifting Finan his final resting place.
Marcus spoke without looking at his sister. He couldn’t comprehend the latest decisions she had been making. “Quitting your job, leaving the city, and moving here? There is nothing here.”
“He’s here.”
He finally turned his head to her, and she never wavered, her sight focused still on the stone in front of her. “Becca.” He grieved for her, saddened by the drastic turn of events that broke his sister.
She said nothing more, so he quietened down, his sight returning to the headstone, in prayer.
The words etched across the grave were simple, each without true meaning when read separately. Only once meshed together did they hold such sorrow, such grief for the widower, the abandoned lover.
She dropped her head, unable to hold on any longer. “I don’t think I can do this without him.”
Hand on her shoulder, she looked to her right just far enough to see his caring touch. He spoke up with an ache; he was hurt to see her like this. “You’re not alone.”
She ignored his remark, her teeth clenching from past anger trying to crawl its way back. She breathed in deeply, calming herself, and fell back into her torment. “Without him, I am.” She still hated herself for having created such deception, enraged at herself for having failed so immensely. “I scarified my powers for him and… it was all for nothing.”
Her brother hoped his words would bring her comfort. “Your family are still witches.” She turned her head to him, wondering over the meaning behind his words. “Your brother still is. Anything you need, magical or not, we’re here for you.”
She pushed his hand away from her. “Why was I so stubborn?” All the fights and arguments were haunting her, left her to wonder if she had been that blind to believe she would succeed without consequence. “I-I should’ve listened to him. To you, a-and everyone-”
“Don’t.” He stopped her, reaching for her hand and gently pulling her his way. “Don’t do this to yourself.” He forced her to look at him, to meet his gaze as he spoke with solace. “You gave him what he needed. Be thankful it worked.”
“But he didn’t need to die.” Tears brimmed over her eyes; it was the first time she had spoken that word, the dreaded destructive letters clouding her. “That was not part of-”
He interrupted her, as she needed to understand it wasn’t her failure. “The gods can be cruel.”
She shook her head in disagreement. “It wasn’t them.” She ran her fingers through her hair before they settled on her chest. “It was her. That damn bitch-” She bit on her tongue; rage born like embers in a fire pit. “She won.”
Marcus pulled her against him, hugging his sister tightly as she broke down. She was clutching onto the gold cross, the Celtic knots imprinting in the wounded palm of her hand.
She was a powerless woman, no longer a witch.
She lost everything in the fire.
She cursed herself for what she had caused, for having been tricked and for having failed him.
Thora had won, and there was nothing to be done to reverse it.
Six months had passed since then.
Bamburgh was grey and dark, the clouds gathering as they prepared to cry over the townspeople.
Becca couldn’t care.
She had been staring at the tombstone, Finan’s name stretched across it.
She hadn’t recovered and she knew she never would.
She mourned the loss with such gravity, life blooming in front of her became a cruel joke.
Standing in front of his grave, her body yelled for her to sit; her feet were sore and swelled as the weight of her womb grew heavy.
Their child was restless, tired and hungry. How could he know, though, what his mother was going through? That she had forgotten him, for a mere second, to mourn the loss of his father?
She looked down, bringing her hands to rest over her pregnant stomach, to calm the boy.
She knew it was time to go and yet, she couldn’t move.
And the breeze changed direction, as if it was running away from something.
“Good riddance, I say.”
Becca didn’t need to look to know who stood next to her.
“Thora.”
“Niece.”
The sound of her voice already irritated the young woman; it was by undoing the curse that Thora came back to haunt the earth.
A warning she never saw coming.
“What do you want?”
The red-haired woman stood tall, arched brow and staring at the cursed man’s grave. “You took something of mine.”
Becca still didn’t turn to her, trying to control her rage. “He was never yours.”
Thora scoffed, unrelenting. “Maybe not, but that child-” She never finished her sentence, a strong pressure suddenly gripping at her.
Her niece violently turned her head to her, almost hurting her neck in the process. Anger seethed through her entire being. “Don’t you dare threaten my son. Do whatever the hell you want, but you leave me and my child out of it.” She had been grasping onto Thora’s wrist so tightly, inflicting such pain, she could break the bones like a twig. “You’ve done enough damage.” The elder tried not to look too shocked at the sudden act, remaining composed the best way she knew how. “Now get out of here and leave us be.”
At Becca’s last words, the gods had spoken; the sky rumbled, ready for battle against each other. The mischievous and chaotic Loki against Freya, protector of witches and goddess of love.
Thora let go, shaking her arm away from her niece, a smirk underlined across her face.
“I’ll see you in a hundred years, then?”
Becca sneered. “No, you won’t.” And she knew she wouldn’t. Not because Thora would live that long, but because the hex had been destroyed the night of the ritual.
It was foreseeing her future that made the elder witch decide to tether herself to the curse she created.
It was because she knew one of her own would one day break it that she let it happen.
Abiding time, and waiting patiently, until six months ago.
Thunder struck the skies, rumbling the earth in anger. The witch cheated death, and she would not go unpunished.
Becca stood her ground as she watched her elder walk away, a smirk of conquest painted across the witche’s dry lips.
The widow was tricked - to be believed that the warning she had seen was telling her the curse would hit her in retaliation, as it had no way to die. The pushback from her family came from knowing the truth - that their ancestor would come back from the dead.
The subtle kicks inside her brought her back to her grief. She was due any day now, and her heart broke at the thought of going through childbirth without Finan by her side, of going through the rest of their son’s life without his father.
She held onto her stomach again, rubbing away the ache caused by the baby’s movements.
She teared up, whispering her goodbye for now, and reluctantly walked away just as the rain started to mist over the village.
The words floated through the cold air, their echo hopeful in its distance.
“I’ll see you on the Other side, my love…”
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a/n: for those who are familiar with The Originals, the knot is a reference to the Sanguinis Knot :)
xoxo,
@gemini-mama, @fangirlninja67
#the last kingdom#finan#finan x oc#tlk fanfic#finan fanfic#finan the agile#tlk#mark rowley#finan fic#tlk fic#the last kingdom fanfic#Photo by Ksenia Yakovleva on Unsplash#the last kingdom fic#finan x ofc
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Rules: make a new post, and post your latest line of your WIP & tag as many people as there are words.
Thanks for the tag @gemini-mama !! ♥️
Here’s where we’re up to in Chapter 38 of The Girl From The Future -
It had always been difficult to stay away from him but now, now, it felt nigh on impossible, his blistering gaze a constant. It wasn't the slightest bit subtle, and each time I caught his eye I felt my heart stumble in its rhythm, drawn into the darkness of his eyes. Like a black hole, all matter was drawn to him, rules written before time itself.
Tagging - @persephones-journey @morosemagick @emilyhufflepufftlk @lauwrite1225 @trenko-heart @solinarimoon @blah-blah-blah-bla @thunderhawk727 @osferth
Full storry on ao3 - https://archiveofourown.org/works/17557118/chapters/41375303
#finan x ofc#the last kingdom Finan#the last kingdom#the last kingdom fanfiction#finan x oc#the girl from the future
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On Raven's Wings - Chapter 7
AN: I apologize for such a long absence in updates for this story. I have not abandoned it! Thank you to anyone who is sticking with it.
Warnings: canon-compliant character death, death by fire, amnesia, loads of pent up angst and regret
Word Count: 3.543
Raven’s Masterlist
My Full Masterlist
AO3 if you prefer
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Jerking awake, Liva coughed and covered her nose with her tiny hands. She sat up, continuing to cough and peering over the edge of the loft where she slept. Terror and panic welled up in her stomach and gripped her chest as she cried out. Flames were licking the edges of the long house and sparks rained down from the thatched roof overhead. Smoke was collecting near her, drifting up to the ceiling. Crawling back, Liva cowered against the wall and covered her head with her arms.
“Rag…” she coughed, the smoke burning her throat, “Ragnar! Sigrid!”
“Liva!” She heard Thyra shout followed by a bellow of rage from her grandfather amidst the roar of the fire growing more and more steadily. She looked back over the loft to see them all.
Liva’s hoarse voice cried out again, breaking with a sob for her grandfather. Turning to look up at her, Ragnar stalked over raising his arms.
“Jump to me, child.”
She grabbed up her nightdress around her legs and shifted to the balls of her feet, still kneeling. She coughed harder now. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, streaking through her smoke stained cheeks. Getting her balance, she pushed herself off the ledge into nothingness only to be snatched from the air roughly and firmly a mere moment later. Ragnar crushed her to his chest, brushing his hands through her hair swiftly and resting his forehead against Liva’s own as he settled her bare feet to the floor. The tender moment lasted no longer than a second, before he bodily swung the young girl into the waiting arms of her aunt.
“What do we do?” Thyra pleaded for a solution. “Mother, what can we do?”
Coughing more, Liva buried her face in Thyra’s arms as the young woman looked to her mother. Thyra’s fingers dug into Liva’s shoulders as she hugged the girl from behind, enveloping her and trying to shield her from the panic.
Sigrid looked from her daughter to share a meaningful stare with Ragnar. Stepping forward, she hugged the two girls close while shouting over the sound of the timbers burning and beginning to crash.
“There is a weak spot in the wall, just behind the loom and furs. Air drafts in from the cracks while we sit and weave. Do you remember?”
Thyra nodded her head and gripped Liva impossibly closer. Liva knew of the spot her grandmother spoke of. Often she had fallen asleep laying at her grandmother’s feet, listening to her stories as she wove the yarn Liva and Thyra spent all year spinning. She wove cloth and Liva liked to imagine she wove her stories into the fabric as well. The sound of the weights tethered to the dangling strands shifting along with her fingers as she wove always matched evenly with the cadence of Sigrid’s stories. And the draft from the winds slipping through the cracks in the wall brushed along Liva’s face as she rested.
It was this corner of the home that her grandmother spoke of now.
“It is weak from rot and age and would not burn well. It will give way if forced upon. If the flames have not found it, you can shove against it and make a way out. Go, Thyra. Take Liva and go.”
Ragnar’s voice broke through as he gripped his daughter’s arm in farewell, “Find Uhtred and Brida. Once you are out, run to the woods and find them.”
In the next instant, Liva was on her knees, crouched next to Thyra and pressing herself against the rotted logs in the wall. They were soft and shifted under the weight of their thrusts. With Thyra shoving with all her weight against the logs, Liva scrambled and scratched, digging at the earth beneath the wood. She cried out and covered her head with her hands when a loud crash of a fallen beam landed behind them followed by a whoosh of flames rippling closer.
Thyra shifted herself back from her knees to her bottom and kicked out viciously at the wood. It began to splinter more and soon a hole large enough for them each to squeeze through took shape.
“I’ll go first and you follow,” Thyra gripped Liva’s hands, wiping away the girl's tears and smudging the soot on her cheeks.
She turned and shifted herself, crawling and wriggling to squeeze through the hole. Liva waited tensely, little cries of worry slipping past her lips.
As soon as Thyra was through, Liva crawled forward, slipping her head through the wood and peering around. She saw Thyra standing only two paces away, peering around a corner, looking for any unwanted attention.
Liva’s younger and smaller frame didn’t have nearly as tight fit getting through the hole. But as she scrambled through and cleared the wall, she heard Thyra cry out. Shakily, Liva stood up and watched two men round the corner and grab at Thyra. They looked enormous. Dark and terrifying, silhouetted by the flames of her family's home.
Liva froze in panic. A raging, bellowing sound rang out from the front of the longhouse. Ragnar the fearless was going to Valhalla. Time seemed to stop. Liva was aware of Thyra struggling against the grasping hands of the two men. She was aware of another crash as the roof of their home continued to collapse. She could hear shrieks and cries and shouts all garbled together one over the other.
And then she was running. Straight into the forest. Her bare feet pounding against the undergrowth and her arms pumping at her sides. She was vaguely aware of someone pursuing her. A danger that was tracking her down.
She had never run so hard in her short life. There was a burning in her lungs from the smoke and the ash. There was a burning in her legs from fleeing through the woods in the cold. And a burning in her mind at the terror and confusion waging war on her young psyche.
In a matter of mere minutes, she had awoken to chaos and lost all she held dear in her world. And now she was running for her life. She knew to head towards the hills in the forest to the West. That way led towards the blacksmith’s charcoal fire. It led to Uhtred. But which way was West?
Chancing a glance over her shoulder, Liva gasped hard seeing her pursuer looming in the distance. His legs were longer but hers was a child’s stamina and she fled for her life. Liva turned back and continued running, clambering up a steep hill to her right.
Up.
Up towards the hills.
When she reached the top, she turned sharply back again crouching and looking for any sign of the man. Her breath came in quick, shallow rasps. She quickly wiped sweat and soot and tears from her eyes, trying to clear her blurred vision. Smoke from the burning hall was melting amongst the trees and shrubs of the forest. Giving her a final shelter and hiding her path from the man.
She thought she could hear him crashing around and fading away, but she was too scared to risk moving to look. Minutes passed. Only a few brief minutes, but Liva stifled her coughs and tears until she could hold them at bay no longer. Choking on the smoke and the grief, the child stood and looked to the sunrise. A sun rising over the still flaming remains of the hall of Ragnar. Sobbing, Liva stepped back. A sudden and intense need to flee gripping her.
Continue West. Uhtred and Brida will have seen the smoke. They must have heard the screams. She knew she must find them. Stepping back again and shifting to turn, the leaves under her toes slid and gave way. She fell, tumbling a short ways before something hard smacked her head and then the smoke filled her vision until all she saw was black.
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Hiding a shaky breath by sipping her wine, Liva paused and looked up at the faces of those surrounding the table. She found the words had come easily once she had started. Keeping her eyes down, staring unfocused at the wood of the table, the events of that night had tumbled from her lips. A story that wanted…that needed to be told.
But she knew these next words, the questions left unanswered would not come so easily.
“That is terrible, Liva.”
It was Osferth who spoke first. Liva gave a short nod in agreement at the simple truth from the gentle and comforting presence of the warrior monk at her side.
Hild found her voice next, also offering support and condolence.
“It is a miracle you survived such a horror.” Liva looked up to see a genuine concern radiating from her.
A large, calloused hand reached out to grasp her own. Uhtred squeezed her hand tightly, but she could not meet his eye. She could not face whatever thoughts would show on his face.
Liva’s chest had begun to tighten and she was fighting back a large lump growing in her throat, when Finan spoke up from the other end of the table.
Clearing his throat, the Irsihman asked what Liva felt sure they all wished to know.
“So what happened to you after?”
Liva found herself staring at Finan and unable to answer his question. The silence around the table grew.
“You hit your head. What happened after? When you woke up?” he clarified, trying to guide a response from her. Trying to get her to answer the question at the front of everyone’s mind. For the briefest moment, Liva’s focus shifted beyond Finan.
Sihtric sat, arms folded across himself with tense shoulders and his jaw firmly set. His stare did not move from his plate.
Liva opened her mouth to speak but found her throat constricted and dry. She took a sip of her wine, lowering her eyes and fixing her gaze on her own hand fidgeting with the rim of her goblet.
“I do not think you will accept my answers,” she replied, finding a strength and steadiness to her voice that surprised her.
Uhtred still said nothing. Only squeezed her hand again. She still could not look at him.
It was Hild who reassured her.
“We may surprise you, Liva.”
Live chanced a glance up to meet Hild’s face. She saw nothing but genuine concern. Another slow breath and then she continued, haltingly. Her words unsteady and unsure.
“My truth is that I do not know what happened to me. I only know that the next I remember…my next solid memory is standing at the edge of a field. A man with a bow kneeling in front of me, asking me what happened. It was Gallen. And he and his wife took me in and raised me. Everything else in between…”
She shrugged her shoulders. Lifting her face to meet Finan’s face and then HIld’s she let her silence grow.
“So you remember nothing,” Finan questioned her, not unkindly but with a clear skepticism at her confession. “Nothing from the time you knocked your head to when someone found you?”
Liva nodded, “I remember nothing of meaning. Or nothing that makes sense anyway. The memories,” she paused, worrying at her lip, “they’re like ghosts. Not truly there. When I try to remember them they fade away. Always at the edge of my sight and never full on. They are a child’s memories. Jumbled and confused. Lots of green leaves and trees and brush. And small hands covering my own. And,” she stopped shaking her head slightly and knotting her brow in concentration. She shook her head again, more firmly then continued, “I feel sure someone helped me in the forest. You can see the scar just below my hairline.”
Liva ran her fingers through the fine, flaxen strands that framed her face brushing them back to reveal a faint white mark. She fingered it gently and continued, “it would have bled a lot with how hard I must have hit it. It remained bruised and swollen for days and days. But when Gallen found me, my face was clean and a bandage was wrapped around my head.”
“Perhaps it was Hlin, the protectress guarding your life in the wood.”
Skade picked up her cup and leaned back from the table. The woman had listened quietly to Liva’s story, her face betraying no emotion. But now she continued, the fanatical craze growing in her eyes, “Or it may have been Vithar. Silence and Revenge. These are his domain.”
“I have never sought out revenge,” Liva sneered. Her words spoken as much to herself as to the woman across the table.
“Not looked for it, but would have taken it had the chance presented itself. No,” Skade smirked in agreement, “but something has stolen your memories from you. And why would your mind need those thoughts removed?”
Before Liva could bite back a remark across the table, Osferth’s soft voice pushed back against Skade’s musings.
“She was a child with a head wound. And some kind soul helped her.”
“Baby monk is right,” Finan interjected, quickly chancing a glance towards Uhtred at the head of the table. “It is often so in battle after someone gets a good, hard hit to the head. Things grow fuzzy.”
Hild spoke up in Liva’s defense next, offering Liva a warm smile, “And I think it matters little if a person can remember all the details from an event that is years since past and held so much pain already. What matters is that a sister who was lost is now found.”
Liva’s brow furrowed slightly although her mouth slid upward in a timid smile at the group’s easy defense of her story. Accepting her truth on its face. She had not anticipated such kindness. And even with the guarded reserve coming from Sihtric and the instigating remarks from Skade, Liva was glad to have spoken her story aloud.
“I am sorry, little bear.”
Uhtred’s words broke through her thoughts and his hand gripped hers tighter. He had remained quiet while she spoke. So his voice, quiet but firm at her side startled her.
She sensed there was more her brother wished to say, but his voice was not cooperating. She squeezed his hand in return and gave him a sad smile.
“Well since we are telling stories, Munnin,” Sihtric’s voice, quietly slinked from the end of the table, lilting and full of the weight of mead.
Finan scoffed and shifted back in his chair, putting a heavy hand on Sihtric’s shoulder and muttering under his breath, “Och, will ye no leave anything alone tonight, ye little shit.”
Quickly, Osferth stood to help as Finan muscled Sihtric out of his chair and began ushering him out of the hall. Uhtred, Hild, and Skade all watched on, each with varying looks of anger, shock, or enjoyment playing across their faces at the chaos that arose.
Liva quickly stood, her chair toppling backwards and clattering onto the ground. The calm and peace she had felt from giving voice to her story about the hall burning replaced instantly by the same sharp anger she had felt in the forest when she and Sihtric had both drawn their blades.
At the sound of her chair hitting the floor, Osferth’s had turned, his attention distracted, allowing her to step past him.
Stepping up to Sihtric, Liva planted her feet. Her hands were curled tightly into fists at her side and she clenched her teeth as she looked up to meet the Dane’s eyes.
Carefully, Finan tried to place himself between them, but with Sihtric staggering he only succeeded in placing an arm between the pair while supporting Sihtric and stopping Liva from stepping closer.
“Go on then, Kjartanson.”
If he was back to calling her that bloody raven then she would name him his father’s son. Her words struck their mark and she watched as Sihtric’s eyes that had been fogged over from drink snapped to red hot focus.
“Ask me your questions from the woods again. There is no knife at my throat this time,” she glowered, “I will give you answers.”
She was vaguely aware of Uhtred’s own chair crashing to the floor as he stood up at her remark. There was a scuffling and bodies shifting noisily and in an instant Osferth and Hild were between Uhtred as the man stalked towards the three.
Liva and Sihtric’s eyes bore into one another, laced with rage. Finan tried without success to maneuver between them or pull them apart.
“Ask me,” she shouted, while she felt Hild’s arms come around her waist and try to pull her away.
“Why weren’t you at Dunholm,” Sihtric bellowed back, forcing himself forward and out of Finan’s hold.
In an instant, his face was in hers. So close his forehead pushed back on hers for a moment.
“Bloodhair brought his people to Dunholm. We were there. And Ragnar was there. But little Liva, Little Munnin was nowhere to be seen.” His words were full of biting ferocity. Liva felt spittle fly from his lips. His rage fanned her own anger and the confession spilled from her lips just as furious tears ran down her cheeks.
“I was there!” She roared.
Sihtric’s face flashed from anger to shock and confusion. The shoving and disorder surrounding them faded at her words as they all registered what she had said.
Liva allowed the tears to continue to roll down her face as she choked out her next words.
“I was at Dunholm. I saw you,” she shoved him hard once in the chest and he took a step back into Finan’s arms.
“I saw all of you,” she turned and looked at the faces of the people around her.
“Then why not reveal yourself then, Liva? Why not…. To Ragnar?”
She could hear the confusion, a stunned pain in Uhtred’s questions.
She turned towards him, half lunging and half collapsing into Hild as she cried.
“Because I was a coward, Uhtred.”
Sobs choked her words.
“Because my father abandoned me long before our home was burned to ash. And because,” she looked past them all to see Skade standing on a chair to better see their quarrel. The woman grinned her self-satisfied grin, reveling in the chaos.
“Because I let the witch’s words worm their way into my mind. She gave me fear and doubt and it is why I lost any chance to ever speak to my father again. And it is why I am loath to see others heed any vile lies that spill from her lips.”
Liva pushed herself away from Hild. The abbess had held her and steadied her since gaining her side. But now, Liva wrestled herself away and gave no moment’s pause before letting her anger move her forward.
Snatching a dagger from Finan’s hip, Liva rushed at Skade. She swung the blade high, aiming for anywhere she could strike.
Warrior reflexes on high alert, Uhtred was on her in an instant. His arm wound around her waist, while his other grabbed her wrist, forcing her to drop the blade.
It all was over in mere moments. Liva slumped against Uhtred’s chest and grasped to hold onto his arms as he enveloped her from behind.
The only sound came from the logs burning in the hearth and their own heavy breaths while they all processed the last several minutes.
Tears still flowed down Liva’s face, unchecked. When she looked up, it was Sihtric’s face, his eyes on her that she could not turn away from.
His brow was ridged in bewilderment and uncertainty. And his eyes looked on her more softly.
A chuckle from Skade to their backs broke the quiet. She stepped down from her chair and wound herself around to Uhtred’s side, placing her hand atop Liva’s own. Liva’s rage had quelled but she felt the anger burn bright again at the feel of Skade’s hand on her skin.
“Though you say you do not seek out revenge, Liva Ragnarsdottir, does not mean you will not avenge when opportunity strikes. Perhaps avenging Ragnar is the path the Gods have laid at your feet. Whether you seek it or not.”
Liva could not stay to hear any more of Skade’s lies. She wanted to argue with her. Strike out at her again. Scream and cry and tell her and everyone else in the room that she did not care what path the gods set before her.
She wanted to tell them all how she had watched them from the rafters of the roof at Dunholm as they sat together and schemed. She wanted to yell that she had instead turned her back and ran. That she was a coward.
Instead, she twisted herself away from her brother and stalked past everyone’s staring eyes. She flung open the door to the hall and as she walked away, she heard the sound of more scuffling along with HIld and Osferth pleading with Uhtred. There was a sound of flesh hitting flesh and a body dropping to the ground with a grunt.
She did not turn around to see who had been hit.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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Lost Voices | Chapter 22
“If I let go, would you hold on? Would we fly?
Is it safer if we just say that we tried?
Are we laughing at the danger?
Are we dancing after death, you and I?”
TAGGED:
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#the last kingdom#tlk#finan#mcloveproductions#finan the agile#fanfiction#read on ao3#sihtric kjartanson#sihtric kjartansson#sihtric x ofc#sihtric x oc#Ingrith#lost voices#time travel au
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+ · 。~ favorite physical touch
pairing.uhtred, finan, sihtric, osferth & sigtrygger x female reader |genre. fluff, reactions? Idk what to call this | warnings. Touching and some kissing | wc. 692 |
synopsis. some sexy tlk men’s favorite physical touch with there girl
request. no
note. I got this cute idea when I was watching kitchen nightmares, weird right? i really want to write more for other characters, just need some suggestions 👩🏻💻 this is kinda short, but it’s sweet. Maybe I’ll make a part 2 in the future!
☆ UHTRED
laying his head on your chest
Uhtred loves laying his head on your chest, for multiple reasons. One, because it's very comfortable, being able to lay down and just close his eyes, feeling your warmth. The second reason is because he loves being able to hear the soothing beat of your heartbeat. He has lost so many people that he's loved in his life, so being able to have you close to him and knowing that you're there, that you're safe…that you're alive. It's very special to him. The two of you don't even have to talk, just lay in silence; in bliss in the bed, you two shares. It's very intimate.
☆ FINAN
cuddling
Finan absolutely loves cuddling with you, he loves how close it makes the two of you become. It doesn't matter what position, as long as the two of you are as close as you can be, he's fine with it. Finan doesn't mind showing some public affection but the two of you mostly cuddle at home, in bed or his favorite place, the soft fur rug in front of the fireplace. Finan’s favorite part of his day is when the two of you wind down, and cuddle on the rug in front of the fire, drinking some ale and talking about your days. Sometimes he would even interrupt you to place a few kisses on your skin that was illuminated by the fire. It was peaceful, it was warm.
☆ SIHTRIC
hugging you close
It was hard for sihtric to really find his favorite physical touch, there all his favorites. But the more he thought about it, he realized that hugging you was his favorite. He hugged you when he was sad, when he was upset, when he was happy. He loved hugging you; he loved being able to pull you close and wrap his arms around you. He loved the smile that would spread across your lips when he pulled you close to him, or how flustered and shy you would get when he would lean to whisper flirty comments in your ear. Either it was hugging you from behind or the front, he loved it. He also hugged you and left a kiss on your forehead before he would have to leave (and ofc a breathtaking kiss). There was just something about hugging you that gets him going.
☆ OSFERTH
resting his head on you
Osferth is a shy boy, at first that is. He was too shy to show public affection towards you around others, so he left all that for when the two of you were alone. But he started noticing something that he did in public and private without realizing, and that had quickly become his favorite thing to do. And that was resting his head on you. When the two of you sat next to each other, he would rest his head on your shoulder and watch your side profile, taking in every detail about you that he could. He also liked resting his head in your lap, looking up at you or the sky, listening to you talk or just quietly relaxing to the feeling of you playing with his hair. He loved it so much; it was just so comforting to be like this with you.
☆ SIGTRYGGR
kissing you
Okay, Sigtryggr is a very touchy lover, so it's hard to pick just one. But thinking about it more, he realizes that kissing you is his favorite physical touch. He does it quite a lot, like a lot. In the mornings he wakes you up by placing soft kisses all over your face and neck, he loves the way your nose scrunches in confusion and your eyes flutter open, only too sleepily smile when you realize what's happening. You would lose count with how many times he would kiss you through the day, on the lips, on the cheek and even on your hand. He likes to surprise you and kiss you on the cheek, alerting you of his presence. He likes grabbing your hand in his and kissing it gently as he keeps his eyes on you, he likes kissing your shoulder and neck from behind. And let's not forget the breathtaking kisses the two of you share.
note: this was fun to write omg! This was my first time writing something for osferth, uhtred and sigtrygger. I want to write more for them, I have some ideas 👩🏻🍳
I’m honestly just re-falling in love with sigtrygger like omg 😩🤭
I know I haven’t gotten a full fic out in a whileee, but I just have been having trouble really focusing on a fic. But don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll get my grove back!
Like I said at the first note, this is pretty short but maybe I’ll make a part 2 in the future.
I hope you guys enjoyed this!
Please comment and tell me what you think of it, I would love to hear your thoughts.
Likes comments and reblogs are very much appreciated!!
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copyright © 2023, all rights reserved. you can't copy, translate, reproduce, repost my fic, use my plot or layout.
#the last kingdom#the last kingdom x reader#the last kingdom fanfic#uhtred x reader#finan x reader#sihtric x reader#osferth x reader#sigtryggr x reader#finan the last kingdom#uhtred the last kingdom#sihtric the last kingdom#osferth the last kingdom#sigtryggr the last kingdom#ewan mitchell#the last kingdom fluff
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River of Sins / Finan x OFC x Osferth
Pairing: Finan x Fem!OC x Osferth
Summary: Osferth had been mustering the courage to confess his growing feelings for Elowen, a maiden from Cornwallum who settled in Coccham, but stumbles across her meeting with Finan.
Warnings: MDNI18+ NSFW. Voyeurism. Oral (F Receiving) UnprotectedPinV(I will not write medieval contraceptive methods.)
Wordcount: 1.08k | Other Works.
Authors Note: Thank you @persephones-journey for the lovely prompt request, it haunted me from the moment I received it. You devil, you.
Osferth stirred gently from his slumber, his lips curving into a small smile. He had dreamed of her again, of Elowen.
The young woman with sleek sandy-coloured hair always worn in different small braids pulling it away from her round face that was constantly sun-kissed, and golden, even in the colder weather when everyone else paled.
He would never forget her arrival in Coccham, her sing-song tones spinning tales of a life in Cornwallum and why she chose to travel, the deep hues of her green eyes sparkling inside the candlelit inn.
Today’s the day, he thought. Today he was going to finally confess that after all these months of quiet observation and exchanging kind words only to blush at the bright beam she would gift him that he had grown an almost unbearable amount of adoration for her.
As he walked through the burr towards the river where he knew she would likely be laundering clothing he tried to make a mental note of what to say. You are captivating and when away I want nothing more than to return to you, hold you, and be the reason you smile… No. Elowen, I dream of you. All I do is dream of you.
As Osferth approached the clearing trees his stomach sank, brows furrowed in confusion as he tried to understand the sight not far from him.
There on the grassy bank of the river, the woman who held his affection was nude, but not alone. She straddled the lap of a man he would be able to pick out of any crowd, even if it was only the back of him he could see, Finan.
Elowen’s head fell backwards with Finan’s lips and teeth ravaging the column of her neck, soft sighs coming from them both as her hips rolled against his, clearly lost in their salacious act.
Osferth’s head bowed as his cheeks grew crimson with heat, a twinge of jealousy and hurt hitting his chest. You fool, of course it was destined to be unrequited.
The will to walk away and be rid of his emotions was broken by Elowen’s breathy gasp hitting his ears. Osferth’s curious eyes flickered up to see her laid on her back, breasts rising and falling quickly with Finan's head dipped between her supple thighs spread wide, her hands buried in the Irishman’s thick hair.
Osferth couldn’t make out where Finan’s hands were, or what they were doing but it was quite obvious from the moan Elowen broke off by biting down on her lip that she was enjoying it.
He only just noticed the fabric of his trousers becoming taut against his groin, and even more to his surprise how his mouth was watering at the sight of her being defiled so openly, where anyone could stumble across her and Finan’s entanglement.
“Finan…” she whined tugging his mouth away from her core, his beard glistening with her juices.
Finan bit at her hips, stomach and chest making his way to her lips with a devilish grin, his words coming huskily, “I’m going to ruin you.”
Elowen’s lewd laughter cut off with a sudden sharp whimper as Finan’s cock sunk into her cunt with quick force.
Look away, return home, this isn’t for you to see, Osferth's mind rattled off but his feet refused to move. He was entranced, his near-silent breaths quickening.
Elowen’s hand fell away from the bicep she held to the ground, her fingernails digging into the dry earth disrupting the blades of grass and mud. The slapping of skin on skin from Finan’s brutal thrusts almost reached the same volumes as her helpless cries.
Finan growled as he roughly took Elowen’s legs and crossed them at the ankles, positioning them over his shoulder and sank his weight onto the back of the blonde woman’s thighs against her chest. A satisfied moan from her filled the otherwise quiet sky.
Osferth’s hardening erection pulsed causing him to harshly palm at it for a moment before rearranging his cock to sit more comfortably in his trousers beneath his albe.
His gaze trailed from Finan’s hand gripping Elowen’s thigh to her crossed feet resting on the Irishman's shoulder, her toes pointing and curling with a curse tumbling from her swollen lips. The thought that maybe he could be the one to elicit such a reaction one day had his cock throbbing.
The idea of leaving now to release his building arousal was tempting, but he wanted to see her fall apart and lock it away in his memories. If I cannot have you, at least I will have that.
Elowen’s unrestrained mewlings began to come breathier, faster and louder as Finan mercilessly snapped his hips against her soft body over, and over and over again. Eventually, he placed his rough hand over her mouth muffling her pleading noises.
No, let her pleasure be heard! Osferth internally begged, his fingers twitching against the bark of the tree he remained behind.
“I know darlin’. You’re so fucking tight, let it go.” Finan rasped, a sheen of sweat glistening across his brow.
He removed his hand from her mouth and knotted his fingers through the hair at the crown of her head, her hands scrambling to clutch at his back as her body tensed under him. Broken gasps with muttered curses fell from Elowen’s mouth, her eyes fluttering closed.
Osferth bit his bottom lip, focusing on how her grip eased as Finan’s pounding stuttered with a pained groan before letting himself all but collapse on the smaller frame of Elowen.
After a few moments of the pair catching their breath, Elowen’s musical laughter rang in Osferth’s ears,
“Get off.” She smiled playfully pushing the Irishman away, and he rolled over onto the grass beside her with his own laugh, his fingers reaching out to stroke along her stomach.
Osferth found her flushed nakedness was a thing of beauty to witness, the droplets of sweat budding across her brow as she hummed with satisfaction, her thighs trembling underneath the morning sun.
The pangs of jealousy returned as Finan stood, hauled Elowen up by her hands, and slung her over his shoulder. She giggled as he slapped her arse when he walked into the water, squealing loudly before he sank them both beneath the water's surface, washing away their sins.
Osferth finally turned away to return home, his head swimming with conflicted emotions of desire and guilt, but he knew one thing was certain, that he would still dream of the maiden from Cornwallum.
#the last kingdom fanfic#osferth x oc#finan x oc#osferth fanfic#finan fanfic#tlk fanfiction#tlk fanfic
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Color Me Once
Pairing: Osferth x ofc/reader (third person perspective)
Rating: E
Words: 2.7k
Warnings: wound/injury, smut, loss of virginity
A/n: well, I said I was gonna do it. So here it is, courtesy of my current rewatch of The Last Kingdom. I didn't bother my beta's with it, we die like heathens.
A knock sounded softly against the wood of her door, startling her from the dress she was mending. The needle pricked the soft flesh of her finger and she yelped, sticking the digit between her lips to ease the pain. With a grunt of frustration, she tossed the garment to the floor and rose to answer the door.
She wrenched it open, irritation clear on her face, a string of angry words ready to leave her mouth. She softened quickly though when she realized who stood there cloaked in shadow. The young man looked nervous, his eyes on the ground, his hands clasped behind him.
His presence was surprising, but not unwelcome. If she were being honest, she thought of him often. "What brings you to my home, monk?"
"The others have camped not far from here." How he managed to look at her from beneath his lashes while being taller than her was a mystery. "I fear I have need of your sewing skills."
She raised a brow at him, crossing her arms over her chest. "I do not see you for months and here you stand asking me to mend your clothes?"
He grinned at her, wincing. "It is not like that, Lady. I do not trust Finan, or worse yet, Sihtric to stitch a wound."
Read the rest here on ao3
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Farewell Wanderlust
Warnings: As always, MDNI, 18+ murder by Temes, character death, angst like a mofo, evil plotting, sexual themes, unprotected sex, oral (female receiving)
Pairing: Osferth x OFC
Word Count: 6941
Summary: Torn from her home country, Keavy finds herself trying to survive across the Irish sea. She happens across Uhtred and his motley crew, and finds herself befriending a monk who is determined to become a warrior.
Author’s Note: Thank you @sylas-the-grim for helping me edit this chapter. Thank you everyone who loved Keavy and Osferth [I am not opposed to a epilogue, let me know].
Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chonky chapter. 💜
Deireadh is end in Irish.
Dividers are by @saradika
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Chapter 7
The seasons had gone and Osferth found himself back within the walls of Wintanceaster. Darkness drafted over the city with the swell of storm clouds, heavy with their threat of the last of the summer rains, with flashes of white and its low rumble of thunder; it mixed with the nightfall, casting long shadows from the bold posts of amber light that was stilted in the streets, leading up to the castle.
His legs ached from the time spent on horseback, as they had traveled North to see Ragnar and his swell of rebellion in Dunholm, only to come back again, flitting amongst the cities that thread throughout East Anglia, Mercia, and then back to Wessex. They moved almost headlong, avoiding the threat of the king that hung over their heads, knitted along with the poisoned whisper of Bloodhair’s seer.
She was now dead but death followed them still, something now palpable within the castle walls of the city.
There was an eerie familiarity as he moved with deliberate steps, following two paces behind Uhtred, who followed behind the priest, and they moved, quick and quiet, through the corridor. Osferth thought back to the last time his father dared to publicly acknowledge him, how his large palm had wrapped around his arm, his staggered steps on wiry legs to keep pace with the stride of the King of Wessex.
Until that moment, Osferth had only been a shadow, a murmur of the ealdorman amongst the stone walls. He was only acknowledged by his sister, who would often pull him away to play games, as Edward was too small to be bothered with.
These were moments he cherished, but they were always fleeting, always ending with the sharp gaze of the queen over her pointed nose; it proceeded the rustle of her skirt with her curt pace, as she would sweep Æthelflæd away for prayer and penitence, leaving Osferth to fade away into the shadows once again.
If it had been left to the queen, she would see him to not exist within the walls, but here he now walked, as requested by Uhtred, his steps joining the soft echo of their footfalls. They stopped outside an oak door and Beocca held up his hand before slipping into the room first, leaving them for a moment.
In the quiet, Osferth dared ask. “Why did you bring me here, lord?”
“Why not?” Uhtred turned to face him, his voice low.
“You could have brought Finan to witness what the king wished to say,” he explained, pausing only to wet his lips. “But you chose me.”
There was a hum to fill the silence and Osferth could see gold rings reflecting from the candlelight in the blues of his eyes; Uhtred did not answer his question. “The last time we were in Wintanceaster, my grief and my actions led to consequences…”
“You did what was right by your gods, lord.”
There was a subtle quirk of his lips as Uhtred watched him before he continued. “Nonetheless, it did not affect only me, but it still resulted in us being banished and torn from,” and his expression showed consideration for his next words chosen, “those we care deeply for.”
Keavy.
The thought of her name alone sent an ardent surge through his veins, something that always thrummed beneath, knotting with his yearn for her touch, for her smile again. She remained with him, heavy on his heart, alongside the cross pendant gifted that was safely tucked beneath his embossed, leather cuirass and ratted albe; its cool metal often served as a balm for the heartsore he woke up with ever since she left for Saltwic.
It had been thirteen months since he last saw her, since he last touched her or tasted her, her lips haunting the curve of his mouth. He often thought of the moment in the stables, their last kiss shared, how she felt beneath his large palms when he placed them on her hips to help her aback; his fingers ached to let her go and his desperate reach to touch her one last time, trailing up the curve of her calf.
Keavy had looked at him, the green of her brilliant eyes focusing beneath the flutter of her dark lashes; his eyes etched the rose color that nipped at her features, blooming from the cool night’s air, from the urgency to leave the city.
He grasped at these moments, but they seemed to spill between his fingers, a thousand words perched on his tongue but he could only squeeze her calf gently, he could only manage the simple promise, “I will return to you,” and then she was gone, leaving him to choke on the unsaid.
“How long has it been?” Untred asked, his voice low, kind, and easing him back into the hallway of the castle of Wintanceaster.
Four hundred and twelve days. “Over a year now, lord.”
Uhtred hummed again. “Osferth, I brought you here to hold me accountable when we face Alfred, so that we may right what is needed and be able to return to Saltwic, but without the echoes of outcast or fugitive to follow our steps.” He offered a wry smile.
Osferth felt his heart flutter with his words, his fingers pressing to feel the soft crinkle of parchment of the letter tucked away, its edges fraying, and each word memorized. As they traveled, updates were fleetingly sent from Saltwic, and only just a quick recount from Æthelflæd that all was well, that they, that Keavy, were still safe.
She studies beside Oswald, who is becoming your namesake, Æthelflæd’s words teased. She is adamant to continue learning so she may send her own words to you.
His heart held onto these words and the bit of hope they offered, as it was all that could be done with the unprecedented time and travel. But when the threat of Æthelflæd was vocalized in Dunholm, they were quick to come to her aid and learned of Æthelred’s intended ill-will.
It was a mixture of frustration, of exhaustion, just the sheer disappointment to return and find Saltwic empty… “They are safe,” his sister was quick to say, her eyes flitting from Osferth, then to Sihtric, and the rest of them. “I had them sent to Alencestre when Aldhelm warned me…” and she faltered.
It was a wrath returned and Osferth spoke low. “I will kill him,” and he felt Uhtred rest his palm on his shoulder, grounding him.
Æthelflæd watched him, a slight curl to her pink lips, and she stepped towards him. “I swore to you that I would keep her safe,” her words just for him and his gaze flicked to meet her own; she reached for his hands. “This is for you.”
A letter, and he felt the corners of his mouth tug upwards, using the fading sunlight to read. Osferth, it began, the sweet curl of her lettering to the piece of parchment, and he could hear her musical lilt with the few lines she had written, I have not forgotten what you have promised me, and I hold onto the hope that neither have you. I am waiting, still, and I will do so until you return to me.
The simplicity of her message warmed his heart; he took care to refold its creases and tuck it away, carrying it with him always. In the days that followed, he came across an intimate moment shared between his sister and Uhtred; he saw her blush, her swift steps to pull away from him and her expression when she spotted Osferth.
He offered his arm, watching how her brow furrowed, the bob of her neck as she swallowed thickly. “Show me the gardens by the chapel,” he offered a scapegoat.
She tucked her fingers in the crook of his arm, keeping with his languid pace; she did not speak of the greenery. “Love is peculiar, isn’t it?” Æthelflæd, if anything, was fearsome, but in that moment she gave a wistful look over her shoulder to see the embrace the seer pressed onto Uhtred. “It has a way to thread within your heart, but life has chapters that must be completed first until it is ready to blossom, or so it seems.”
Osferth hummed, his steps slowed to keep with her, his mind returning to the words written: I am waiting.
“Do you love her, Osferth?”
It was a relief to admit it outloud, to say something that pressed within his heart, heavy with his steps that traveled northwards and back again. It was a thought that sung with the rising sun and carried throughout to a melodious lull at night. But he also confided his hesitation to tell Keavy just this.
“What keeps you from saying this to her?”
Osferth swallowed, his lips pursed in debate of what words he would choose, deciding to trust his sister: the sin’s of their father and the curse that he was born into.
She stopped walking and he followed, turning to look at her; he saw the maturity to her beauty, the hereditary severity that lined her lovely face with her smile. “Oh Osferth,” she began, reaching for his hand to hold his attention, “I think life is cruel enough on its own without this perpetual penance. God be damned,” she almost laughed, “I see that Keavy has a strength knitted within her very bones. I believe you should allow her to decide her own fate, to allow her to choose to spend our given time on this earth with you or not.”
Osferth blinked. “Promise me you will tell her when you see her again,” she continued, and he saw a sadness to her smile, “as I know she loves you.”
His heart lifted with her words, but the sadness was heavy still with his sister. “What of Lord Uhtred?” His curiosity could not be helped; since the nunnery, he was too aware of the lingering glances, their subtle touches shared, how their every movement was scrutinized from the sharp glare of the witch.
Plumes of red stained her porcelain tones and her lashes fluttered as she forced herself to keep his gaze. “I believe,” her tone slow with a recognition all her own, “that Uhtred and I are maimed by a great love lost, that our sorrow recognizes one another and we cannot help but be drawn towards each other.”
Osferth nodded; the guilt, the weight of Gisela’s death nearly killed Uhtred on the way to Dunholm, and this was first he had seen his smile in months. “I only wish for you to find happiness, Æthelflæd.”
“And I, you, Osferth,” her eyes glassy with her words. “You will always be welcomed in Mercia.”
They were quick to move, called to Aegelesburg and spoke strategy on how to cripple the Dane army that grew. After the bloodshed, they returned to Coccham and found the village thriving, though once they passed through the archway, Osferth could not shake the haunted feeling of the transitory happiness that seemed an eternity ago.
The pagan hall had the spilled stain of lords unwelcomed, with their placed ornaments of the Christian God hanging above while they ate their fill; they were seated at the same table where he helped Keavy tutor Stiorra and Oswald, her endless patience and sweet smile, and how Gisela watched over them, her eyes glittering.
But that warmth was swept from the great hall and Osferth left without a word, following the dirt path that returned him to the room he and Keavy shared. The air was stale, her lingering scent gone, and nothing but a dust that covered the bare furniture left behind.
He took deep breaths through his mouth, the heartache still pressing, and he felt jolted from his self-wallowing.
I know she loves you.
He then heard Leofric, his words clawing through the earth, an echo that rang bold from his grave: a man could be set on a path, but only his steps could create his own destiny.
Osferth felt embolden, something that now seared through his veins, propelling his steps forward with the earth crunching beneath his boots. He thought of the time lost to his damn hesitation, for some curse mentioned by a faith lost, a curse deemed by his very existence and damned by the sins of his father, and how he foolishly allowed it to still his tongue when it came to her.
He knew he loved Keavy, just as Uhtred described once, something that thrummed beneath his skin, in tandem with his heartbeat.
He moved towards the Temes, to allow a new breath, a moment to clear his mind of this burdened relief carried that now was dissipating with each step. He only stopped when he saw Untred and the witch, but he dared to creep forward, silent, wary, watching how the tension lifted in his lord’s shoulders when he released her and how she drifted away with the current.
Uhtred seemed surprised as Osferth moved to the dock, reaching to pull him from the river. He was quiet through the confession, how Uhtred was not proud of what he had done, and he was quick to stop his lament. “You have taken control of your destiny, lord,” and his words burned in his chest, as if branded by the Celtic cross worn. “Today, I have decided to do the very same.”
Curse be damned.
“I will not leave this city,” and Uhtred’s voice returned his attention back to the hallway, perched outside the king’s door, “until we have been reinstated, free men once more. And besides,” Uhtred was watching him, “don’t you wish to see your father?”
Osferth returned the stare; this thought had been furthest from his mind, but the words spoken wrapped around his throat and he swallowed hard. The silence was heavy and his voice cracked when he said, “Yes, lord.”
It was then that Beocca peered out, gesturing to Osferth. “The king wishes to speak with you first,” and the priest moved aside.
Osferth looked to Uhtred for a moment, who nodded his encouragement, and he moved past the priest, slipping into the room.
Orange hues pooled around the bed from the thick tapers lit and the king was swathed in woolen blankets, propped against overstuffed cushions to hold him upright. Osferth marveled at the vestige of the man from Aescengum months prior, his complexion waxen and his skin taught over his bones, with dark rings beneath his closed eyes. He would have assumed the king was already dead had he not noticed the subtle rise and fall of his chest, the muted labored breaths beneath the layers.
And then the king opened his eyes, their shared blue that was muddled with his sickness and that wavered until they fell to where Osfeth stood. There was the shudder of his youth, his want to wilt away from the direct gaze, but instead he moved towards the bedside.
King Alfred watched with bruised, hooded eyes as Osferth seated himself on the ottoman, pulling himself close enough to see that candlelight show the last glimmer of life touching his pallid features. “Osferth,” the king began, his name foreign, spilling from his cracked tongue and lips.
A cough came, a wet rasp that was covered by a handkerchief spotted with blood; Osferth looked to grab a goblet at the bedside, offering a drink that he gratefully took. When he set the mug down, he felt the king clasped his hand onto his other, a papery thin touch, and Osferth dutifully reached with his other hand, dutiful to his dying father, solemn with his returned gesture.
“I know what you have done,” Alfred continued between ragged breaths. “I have heard of your bravery,” and he paused. “You are a good man and I am proud.”
Osferth shifted his weight from his words and the king did not notice, or if he did, he continued anyway. “Death allows you to reflect on your failures, your misdoings in your life,” he released his hold, pressing his palms against the top blanket; the skin clung thin to the bones, his knuckles jutted against. “There is a letter prepared. Bring it to Æthelflæd, she will know what must be done.”
His eyes followed the weak wave to see the parchment folded and the red wax of the king’s seal placed. “I only ever wished to do what was right by you,” and Osferth jerked back towards the murmur of the king, a man of regal regret, and saw that Alfred held a look of awe, as if it was his first time to truly see his eldest son.
“Osferth,” he repeated, his voice weak and his eyes glassy. “I am proud.”
“Thank you,” he breathed, the threat of tears in the same eyes he shared with his father.
Osferth felt a warm touch on his shoulder and looked up to see Uhtred standing over, a gentle squeeze. He moved to stand, excusing himself to leave the room, pausing in the doorway for a final look at his father, who managed a second wind to greet Uhtred; dutiful until the end.
Only in the corridor did he dare peer at the letter in hand, at the king’s penmanship that began: To my kinsman, Osferth.
+ + + +
“I see horsemen.”
Keavy sat below the tree that Stiorra climbed, her back against the trunk and a tome opened across her lap; the girl was growing long like her mother, allowing a reach for the higher limbs, and still slender enough for the branches to hold her weight. Keavy squinted upwards to where the girl was perched, watching. “Tradesmen?”
The cool breeze rippled through her hair and she used one hand to push it from her view. “If they are tradesmen, they travel light.”
Keavy closed the book and set it on top of the quilt spread at the base, pushing to her feet. “Climb down, Stiorra,” she swallowed the tinge of panic to her tone. “It would be best to alert Lady Æthelflæd…” in case they are unfriendly, but she could not say that out loud.
It had been weeks since the Battle of Holme, as it now known; it was a bloodshed of Danes, a revolt orchestrated by Æthelwold that had been met by Lord Uhtred and his valiant men, as well as the Anglo-Saxon allied militia. Despite the victory, the Danes that escaped flitted across the villages of Northumbria, still raiding, still vengeful.
“They may be Dane,” Stiorra continued her assessment, her head tilting; it was one of the many traits passed from Gisela, her unwavering fearlessness as in this moment, watching still. “Or some of them, anyway…”
“Stiorra,” her voice was sharper. “Now.”
She reached for a thicker branch to begin her descent, pausing to say, “Keavy,” and she looked down. “It is my father!”
It had been fourteen months since they had arrived at Saltwic; they rode through the night and following day, coming just as the amber streaks of dusk splayed behind the stoned rook. Lady Æthelflæd came to the courtyard at the call of her men, wearing with the same severity of her brother that was etched onto her features.
She recognized Hild and beckoned them inside at once, with Sigdeflaed guiding the bleary eyed children and Keavy lingering behind with the nun. While Hild recounted the prior days, Keavy was drawn to watch the emotions playing across her fair features in a way that was akin to Osferth, subtle but austere; only when Keavy was mentioned by name was the noticeable flicker, the small curl upwards of her lips.
“You are Keavy?”
She felt the blood pour into her cheeks as Æthelflæd turned her attention towards her, with the same blue that belonged to Osferth. “I am,” Keavy gave a small nod.
“I have heard so much about you,” and she smiled with a warmth that reached her eyes. “You are safe here, I swear it. For as long as it is needed.”
The weeks that followed were quiet, uneventful, though Keavy still kept her seax and dagger on her person out of caution, or perhaps comfort. She still pressed for a new normalcy for both Stiorra and Oswald, who seemed to have aged with their grief.
Stiorra mirrored her mother in so many ways, though her willful temperament came from Uhtred; she had no interest in her studies, but still would participate, in part to torment her brother, but mostly she pushed to learn how to handle a real blade. Whereas Oswald had grown solemn in Saltwic, embracing the supplied priest for their tutoring lessons, newly dedicated to the faith.
Keavy remained present, sitting with Æthelflæd, who would often use the time to pen a letter for Osferth. She was aware of the Irishwoman’s gaze and asked her, “Would you care to add something?”
She blushed as she shyly admitted that Osferth had been teaching her to read whenever he was in Coccham, but never to write; with this Æthelflæd smiled, a soft hum of encouragement for her to sit alongside the priest, taking a personal interest for Keavy to practice her penmanship.
The seasons rolled away as the autumn’s yellows, oranges, and reds were soon covered by the first dusting of snowfall, enveloping Saltwic in white; the only color shown were the rich tones of primrose that bloomed throughout the gardens.
Inside, fresh parchment was placed onto the table and Keavy looked up to see the same kind smile, the same kind eyes that she recognized in Osferth with Æthelflæd’s features. “This is for you, so you may write to him,” was all she said.
Æthelflæd seemed very aware of whatever was between Keavy and her brother, but she still could not help the color that flushed her cheeks. “What would I even tell him?”
“Whatever it is that you are carrying in your heart,” Æthelflæd replied, a knowing smile curling on her rosy lips.
The empty page seemed to taunt her and Keavy remained seated long after the rest retired to their quarters. The quiet, the solitude allowed her to finally pull from her heart as suggested, blowing on the ink to dry.
She heard steps and turned to see Æthelflæd returning downstairs with a man in her shadow. Keavy pushed from her seat, her seax and dagger drawn, her heart in her teeth. “Keavy, it’s okay, I know him–” she held up her hands, a flush of color to her cheeks. “We must act quickly.”
Saltwic was no longer safe and they were to leave for Alencestra at once; the words clawed within her chest as Æthelflæd continued, “I will leave for Wincelcumb, and I will send for Uhtred.” Her eyes were bright with her plan. “You all will be safe there until I come for you… once this matter is dealt with.”
“Uhtred will kill him,” and Keavy sheathed her steel, her eyes still wary of the man. “They both will kill him.” Osferth.
Æthelflæd nodded. “I hope it does not come to that.”
“Lady, be safe.” Keavy reached for the parchment, folding it. “And… if you see Osferth, could you give him this?”
Her knowing smile hinted, the newfound worry lifting for a moment until the hushed whisper came: “Lady, we must hurry.”
The time in Alencestra was long enough for Oswald to announce his departure for St. Wilfrid’s Church, to go back to Wessex, refusing to return with them to Saltwic. Keavy watched him, finally seeing the flare of his father in Oswald, the young man's eyes bold with his conviction. Stiorra was incredulous and only Æthelflæd seemed supportive.
“Father will understand my decision,” he finished.
But Keavy knew that would not be the case.
They returned to Saltwic just as the snow melted with the returned plumes of color from the flowers that sprouted through, followed by the summer rains that thundered and muddied the earth, and continued until it was blanketed once again with the amber colors of autumn, sprawling as far as the eye could see.
And they remained still, without word, without direction from Uhtred, without an update from Osferth. Instead, news only came second-hand: the death of the king of Wessex and the succession of the aetheling Edward, and the bloodied battle won against his uncle Æthelwold.
Kevay tried to smother her impatience, her anxiety that knotted in her chest, waiting for a whisper, a murmur of news, to know if Osferth still lived or if he had died. She wondered if she would ever be able to tell him what she failed to write to him.
That she loved him, and she always would.
And now the words that spilled from Stiorra swept the air from her lungs, her stance wavering slightly. “Stiorra… are you certain?”
The girl moved with a newfound eagerness, branch over branch, uncaring how her skirts caught and tore them free. “I see the glint of Serpent-Breath’s handle!” Her tone was gleeful. “He is back as he promised! And he brings your beau!”
Keavy flushed crimson. “You know not what you talk about–”
“I am only young, I am not blind,” she continued with her cheeky tone, teasing just as Gisela had always done. The heartache of her loss remained, but Keavy always pressed for them to recall the good, that it was the love they held for their mother that would keep her memory alive. “I remember how you were sweet on him and besides,” and her grin matched her tone, “I also remember mother saying he was your beau.”
It was as if Gisela was able to still tease beyond the grave. “Nevermind what she said–” Keavy burned as she struggled for her words. “Just, come down, quick!”
Stiorra gave another cheeky grin before dropping from the last branch and landing back onto the ground; her cheeks were rosy from the sun, her eyes bright with her discovery.
Keavy took her hand, the fevered pull of her heart with their hurried steps, her mind repeating the same hope she clung to the prior fourteen months: they have returned, Osferth is here!
It was called throughout and soon there was the spill into the courtyard, the gates opening as they gathered. Keavy stood solid despite the flurried anticipation that trilled her spine, watching until her vision blurred and blinking to clear it again.
Uhtred led the men into Saltwic and its welcoming cries. Stiorra, who was a young woman in so many ways but at that moment, she was a child again and happy to see her father; she preened as he dismounted, pulling her close and pressing a kiss on top of her head. His steady gaze fell to Æthelflæd, her modest smile and the rose color pluming on her fair complexion as she watched.
Then there was the reunion of man and wife, with Sihtric quick to pull Sigdeflaed for a kiss, of Finan calling loudly to their public display, but Keavy ignored it all; her eyes sought for Osferth alone.
And she saw him, further back with Pyrlig, swinging his leg over the cantle and dropping off the side of his horse. He seemed taller than she remembered, a beacon that cut through once his eyes found Keavy, navigating through the men with his long legs.
She willed herself forward, but remained rooted with her awestruck–he’s here. Osferth pressed forward until he was able to reach for her hand, and she was quick to take it, as she always had, as she always would.
It was the familiar fit she longed for, how her hand fit into his own; his fingers still slender, his grip hardened with callouses from the reins, from his sword, but was gentle still, and firm with his hold, as if anything less would allow her to float away. Keavy followed his steps as he pulled her away from the crowd–though she felt their eyes follow, and they walked until they came around to the gardens, where the small chapel stood.
There was the crunch of the auburn foliage with the season change beneath their feet, the cold nipping in the air. Osferth stopped and turned to face Keavy, his hands moving to the dip of her waist; she felt the air wrung from her chest with how he looked at her, the same brilliant blue of his eyes, rose hues that stained his cheeks and the tip of his nose.
“Keavy,” began the gentle timbre of his voice, another flutter that swept through her with how he said her name, “may I kiss you?”
She almost cried with his request, but instead gave a small nod; his lips curled, the blood beneath his skin darkening his features, and he dipped his head forward, the soft touch of his lips before he pressed against her. Keavy melted against him, her hands clasping on his forearms with a tight hold to keep her standing. She was unaware she was even crying until he pulled away, his concern knitting his sharp features and his large palms moving to cup her face.
His touch was still gentle, warm and mindful of her mar, his thumb careful to wipe away the large tears that spilled. “You are crying?” He sounded alarmed, as if he held himself the cause.
“You came back,” was all she could say, a hoarse whisper that broke away from her throat.
“Keavy,” his relief washed over and his lips curled upwards, his gaze softening with her words, “I told you that I would.”
Her laugh was choked with tears and he gave a chaste kiss before he pulled away, not outside of arms’ reach, but space enough to pull the Celtic silver cross from beneath his clothes; it gleamed in the sunlight. “I said I would bring this back. It always seemed to bring me luck,” he teased as he untied the leather. “May I?”
She nodded again, her hands trembling to gather her dark hair as he moved behind her, bringing the necklace and knotting it at the nape of her neck; her skin rose with his warm touch, his thumb against her spine, and she felt his lips touch, his rumbled hum reverberating throughout her.
“Would you rather just keep it?” she felt silly with her question, her fingers coming to touch the metal and turning to meet with his eyes.
Osferth looked to her hand before resting his large palm over, and her heart rattled in her chest. “This is where it belongs,” and she saw how his neck bobbed as he swallowed. “Keavy,” he seemed solemn, almost uneasy, “I know so much has happened, so much that I wish to tell you…” he shifted his weight. “Keavy, I am a man cursed–”
“Osferth?” Her brow quirked.
He shook his head, searching for the words, “I mean this in the biblical sense–”
“I refuse to hear this, damn the Saxon God,” she burst, the flash of severity brightening her eyes as she spoke. “Your worth is not deemed by the sins of another man!”
Osferth watched her with a pursed smile that deepened his dimples, and he leaned forward to capture her mouth; the kiss was soft, it was warm, and when she sighed, his tongue curled within her mouth, a languid pace to taste. When he pulled back, Keavy sighed again, the warmth burning her cheeks, her lips slightly swollen. “Allow me to finish?” His whisper fanned her face and she nodded numbly.
“I am cursed, mayhaps,” and his gaze shifted a moment, but he did not continue with that thought, but instead, “I know that I have nothing to offer your affection, but know that with what I have, I will give you. I knew from the moment I saw you, from the moment we touch, how it gave me a sense of home I had never felt before,” he looked at the hold, how her palm curled within his own, the steady rise and fall of her chest, “I wish you to be my wife, Keavy. I love you.”
And only then did he meet with her eyes, and Keavy could feel how her scar ached with how she smiled. “Say it again, Osferth.”
“That I am cursed?” He seemed uncertain, and even more as she laughed.
“No,” and she pulled her hands away, sliding them to curl against the base of his neck, pulling him closer for another kiss. “Only the last part,” she whispered against his mouth.
Osferth smiled, glowing. “I love you, Keavy.”
And they kissed.
+ + + +
There was a call for the staff to prepare a feast, for barrels to be rolled out so no mug would be empty, as there was much cause for a celebration this day.
Æthelflæd and Sigdeflaed pulled Keavy away, helping her scrub every inch of skin and combing her curls with a rose oil gleam; a cream tunic and kirtle was gifted, cinching at her waist, a rich plum that complemented her fair skin and brought out her green eyes.
There was a soft tap at the door that showed Stiorra holding a garland crown of primroses from the garden. “Just as you would do for me,” she smiled as Keavy placed it on top of her head before pulling her in for a hug.
Arms linked, they walked back outside just as the last stretch of sunlight tucked away, the beginning blue hues that mixed with the burnt oranges and stars beginning to dot the sky. Keavy felt as if she were walking on the air as they entered the small chapel to see Uhtred, Finan, Sihtric, and the priest Pylrig towards the back where the stained glass reflected the tapers lit. She smiled at the sight of Osferth, and he returned it, his dimples lining his cheeks watching her eager steps to meet him.
The priest officiated, taking Osferth’s large hand and placing it on top of Keavy’s. He felt her slight tremble and peered to see the flush of color with her grin; his thumb drew small circles and only then did she look to him, the color deepening on her cheeks.
A quick prayer at the end was followed with a sweet kiss, and Finan crowed loudly. “Fucking finally!”
Night spilled over Saltwic and torches were lit to show the way back, able to follow the rich aroma of the feast prepared; cups brimmed and toasts given to the new king, to the safe return of Uhtred and his men, and to the new lordship, which cause Keavy to look at Osferth.
His grin was shy and he brought her knuckles up for a kiss. “I promise I will tell you everything, but this night I only wish to celebrate my beautiful wife.”
She glowed with his words, leaning forward for a kiss to his jaw with the whisper, “Whatever you desire,” and her tone sultry, “my lord.”
Osferth did not let go of her hand, his slender fingers interlacing with her own, and she followed his sure steps that led away from the continued festivities and towards the room that had been prepared for them. When they came to the door, he drew her close by bringing the back of her palm to his lips for a gentle kiss, relishing in the flush of color to her cheeks before he opened the door.
He pulled her inside, making sure to close and lock the door before he turned to capture her mouth; he pressed against her and she moaned in response, her arms wrapping around his neck, his tongue clever to taste. His large hands that had been hardened from battle showed grace with the intricacies of the lacings on her dress, with Osferth pausing to kiss the bit of new skin he exposed until Keavy was fully bare.
Each touch of his lips seemed to spark against her skin, fluttering to her nerve endings and back again; she felt the coiled fervor in her lower abdomen, a wetness that pooled between her thighs, an ache to be touched by his hands.
“Osferth,” she breathed against his lips, “I need you.”
But instead he pulled back, taking away the warmth he embodied, and Keavy could not help her soft whine, feeling her blush spill with intimate rose hues that stained her skin. He watched, his eyes rolling over her, his brilliant blue swallowed by his lustful haze and an almost playful curl to his lips.
Osferth closed the space he created, a hot whisper in the shell of her ear, “I know,” and he moved closer, feeling her shuddered response beneath his fingertips, gentle to touch her hips and bring her flush against his chest; she sighed at the heavy shaft that pressed onto her lower stomach, “I promise, but first…”
Keavy looked to see a pink dusting that covered his cheeks, his smile almost shy with his continued confession. “You must be first… I certainly will not last.”
She kissed him again, her fingers pulling at the tunic he still wore; they moved towards the bed, a trail of his clothing in their wake, until she was able to fall back against the mattress. Osferth remained standing, a moment to admire her curves, from the width of her hips to her waist, the natural slope of her breasts and watching their rise and fall with her breath.
He climbed onto the bed, moving between her plush thighs; it was a scent intimately her own, mixing pleasantly with the fresh straw and linen. Osferth dipped his head to place a kiss to the bloom above her entrance and she sighed, her thighs clenching in response, but his large hands moved to grip into the softness, pulling them apart so he could sink further.
Keavy felt the blood rush to her head; his touch was familiar, remembered, with his soft nuzzle between and his kisses that led towards her center. She gasped and he only hummed in response, his lips curling upwards as they pressed to savor her essence; it was overwhelming after so long, and Keavy could not help but jump, another gasp that ripped from her chest.
His hold tightened, his pleading murmur against her folds, “Let me, let me,” as he continued.
She could not help but squirm, her fingers combing through his locks to root herself, and Osferth hummed again, a vibration that fluttered throughout her. She felt his fingers press against her silken slit, the curl of one digit within and another followed, creating sparks of pleasure that trilled up her spine with his come hither motion; her heart pounded against her chest from his sensual ministrations, the blood roaring towards her center as each euphoric wave began to crest and press against her seams.
“Osferth,” she cried, pearled tears clumping her lashes together.
“My beautiful wife,” his breathless praise against her wet cunt, “just like that…”
Osferth continued and her stomach tightened before the coiling passion finally burst, stars dancing before her eyes and her sinful clench around his fingers as he continued to coax through its entirety. Once her breath steadied, once her vision cleared, did she look to see he was now standing, his fingers now wrapped around the base his length, heady and heavy and glistening from her release.
She pushed to her elbows to meet as he moved on top of her, capturing his lips and she licked herself off his chin with a giggle. Osferth grinned, moving into the cradle of her hips, resting on his elbows to hold his weight, but she clenched her thighs to draw him closer for another breathless kiss.
Keavy melted against the warmth of his bare skin, the tickle of his chest hair, and his arm dipped between them to line the crown of his cock to her entrance, the gratifying stretch as he filled her. She gasped from the slow roll of his hips, sheathing his length and rekindling a passion with his each thrust; her nails bit into his shoulders, gasping to catch her breath that was being pulled away with the returning crests of pleasure, of something deeper within that caused her walls to flutter.
“Again?” Osferth was flushed, pleased, but his pace did not falter.
She could only give a mewled response, a clenching release, an intensity from the depth he reached inside her, and its rapturous pull that left her boneless and breathless, caged in his arms. Osferth followed her over the edge, tucking his head into the junction of her neck to her shoulder, a muted groan as his cocked pulsed within her velvet walls.
And they laid for a moment before he began to place soft kisses against the curve of her neck, his lips trailing her jaw, and she giggled from his touch. He grinned again, another chaste kiss on her lips before he pulled away, moving to grab a cloth that was draped by the washbin, wringing it out and returning to wipe away the sex, pausing a moment to admire the spill of his seed and how it gleamed against her rosy folds.
The hour was late when they finally crawled beneath the layers of blankets, of furs, and Osferth curled behind her with a deep inhale then a sigh from feeling the softness of her backside pressed against his chest, from how she fit into his embrace as his arms wrapped around her waist. He nestled further into her curls, a scent sorely missed of rose oil against her flushed skin, until his lips touched the back of her neck, eliciting a sleepy sigh from her lips.
He smiled, the low murmur, “My sweet wife.”
Deireadh.
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#the last kingdom#the last kingdom fanfic#the last kingdom fanfiction#osferth#osferth fanfic#osferth fanfiction#osferth x ofc#we need more osferth fanfic tbh#slow burn#farewell wanderlust
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Cruel Summer
damn seasons part 1
pairing modern!Eadith x ofc
summary This could be a sweet friends to lovers story, if only the summer wasn't so cruel.
warnings angst/fluff, slight mention of aggression, implied smut/suggestive
word count 5.4k
a/n i used some stefanie's pics on the moodboard where she is blonde, but eadith still being a redhair right. this story takes place in no specific country or city. also, there's no blood feud between families in this, kjartan is tove and sihtric's father but he does not take place in the story, they actually live with their mom and stepdad, its not important at all, just the backstory i had created.
Eadith is her best friend. Tove have met her when she was 15, Eadith has just moved into her town and she started to study with her brother, Sihtric, and his band of friends, who are also Tove's friends despite being 2 years older than her. It was naturally, the boys —that includes Aethelflaed, 'there is nothing ladylike in the way she throws a punch' as Uhtred says — brought her to their circle of friends and as she was closer in age with Tove, their friendship just happened.
Since the first day it has been them, Sihtric, her big brother, is friend with Uhtred and Finan since they were babies, and when Tove was born, the boys were enchanted with their little princess — as Sihtric said, and later swore they will always protect her at all costs. The years went by and nothing changed, it was Sihtric, Finan, Uhtred and Tove, the princess in danger who they, the fearless warriors, need to rescue, as they always play. Until new faces were showing up, Aethelflaed, and her half-brother, Osferth joined the band when they were about 11, 10 years old. They were inseparable, and their families being close contributed to it.
When she first met Eadith, Tove felt something different about her, but she couldn't know what, so she let it go, she kept to herself this unfamiliar feeling everytime she was on Eadith's presence, in order to forget about it. Until her second year at uni.
Tove was studying ASNC - anglo-saxon, norse and celtic -, a subject she was always interested as her family has a big norse inheritance, and because of that she planned to do her master program in Denmark. In some way Tove could handle the studying life with their nights out, at a pub, a club or a party.
It was at one of those parties that everything happened. Tove was way too drunk, trying to find her way to a bathroom and she found one at upstairs of the house. What she didn't know was that Eadith was following her, trying to look after her, so when she opened to go out and found Eadith leaning on the doorway, waiting for her, Tove couldn't contain her surprise.
— Eadith! Hey, what you're doing here? — Tove asked leaning on the doorway as well.
— Tonight is my turn to keep an eye on you. — Eadith said, with a playfull tone, but she was serious. They all have this kind of agreement that at least one of them won't get too drunk for emergencies, it's their way to look after each other.
— I'm not even that drunk! — Tove's voice was disagreeing with her. — You can go and have some fun.
— I am not on the mood for party at all, I'm good here.
With a courage coming from nowhere - all the alcohol she consumed - she came closer to Eadith. — Well, then let's have some fun the two of us.
Before Eadith could say anything, Tove's lips were crashing hers. At first she didn't stop, because she's been wanting this for so long and Tove's soft lips against hers was definitely the kind of fun she was needing. But then she remembered Tove was drunk and broke the kiss.
— Okay, lady, I think it is time for you to go home, come. — Eadith said, still close to her, fixing her hair.
Tove didn't protested and Eadith took her to Sihtric, and they both agree to go home and left the party.
When the next day came up, it was like nothing had happened. Eadith didn't touch the topic and Tove didn't remember, yet. It took her a day or two to realise that it wasn't a dream, - c'mon, she had dreamt of this too many times to realise it had truly happened - she had kissed Eadith. And she wanted to do again.
However, she couldn't. Eadith is her best friend, she couldn't risk ending up their friendship for something silly like this. So she let it go, again.
The realization came several months later. Tove was one month away from finishing her degree and started to organize her life to her Master program. She and Eadith still being friends and very closer, Eadith thinking that she forgot about what happened that night, and Tove pretending she actually forgot.
One day Tove was walking on campus towards the library when she saw Eadith talking with a guy, he was obviously flirting with her and she was smiling to him. Tove got angry, she rushed to the library, and let the tears fall silenty. She didn't like this feeling, she didn't like what this feeling means. So she masked it as stress coming from the exams.
Tove was miserable for days, and everyone noticed, including Eadith, but she got nothing from her.
Sihtric started to get worried about his little sister, he knew something was hurting her. It was a normal thursday, Sihtric was at home, so he found it strange when Tove showed up at noon when she was supposed to be in her lecture.
As soon as she arrived home, Tove rushed to her bedroom and lock herself there. Of course Sihtric followed her.
— Tove, open the door, talk to me. — he asked at the door, for the third time.
— I don't want to talk, Sihtric, leave. — she said and he could notice by her voice that she was crying.
— C'mon, at least let me be with you, you don't need to say anything now.
No answer came immediately, but after some time he could hear that she unlocked the door. When he enters in her bedroom, she's already back at her bed and he lays down besides her, giving her a tight hug and she cried more.
— You say you're fine, but I know it isn't true. Don't tell me it's the exams, I know there's something more. You don't need to tell me anything, just don't lie. — Sihtric gives her a kiss on her temple — But if someone did anything to you, that you need to tell me. — he said on his protective brother tone.
Tove let out a little laugh. She has the best brother in the world.
— It's Eadith. — she says after she calmed down — She's going out with that guy.
— And what's the problem?
— The problem is that I love her! — she exclaimed — Not like you do, I love her.
Sihtric didn't know what to say, he only knew that advising her to talk about it with Eadith wouldn't happen. Tove is a stubborn bastard, just like him.
He just said to her that if it's meant to be, it'll be. Sooner or later. And Tove cried at that, 'cause she know it won't.
Her final exams have passed, as Eadith's and Osferth's. —The three of them were the only ones that still at uni, as the others had graduated a year before.— And that was a reason to party, they said.
So there is Tove, at a friday night getting ready to go to some club they chose. She picked out a little black dress, one of the milions she has and was finishing her makeup when Sihtric knocked on her door.
— Are you ready to go?
— Yep — she answered after applying her lipstick. — You’re lucky I'm on the mood for party tonight, or I'd make it the worst night ever.
— You don't think I know? That's why I suggested we'd go tonight, I see you're in a good mood.
— So we should stop wasting time and go.
Well, she was on a good mood, really. But not anymore.
Tove was all happy and excited, and suddenly her feelings got all blue after Eadith arrived with Bresal, the guy she is going out with. It made her blood boil seeing him holding Eadith's hand, it should be her instead.
Sihtric looked at her, worried, as Eadith started to introduce Bresal to the others, he saw Tove giving her best to look strong as she greeted them, and as soon as they turned their back, he saw how she ran away.
He waited a few minutes to go after Tove, trying to keep up appearances, he saw that some of them noticed Tove vanishing but no one said nothing. Sihtric soon found her at the bar, asking for another drink.
— Tove, we can go home if you want, you don't need to stay. — he tried, approaching her.
— And you don't need to leave just because I'm in this pathetic situation. — she finally says after a moment in silence.
— I won't leave you alone, you're my little sister, I'll ne-
— I'm leaving! — she cuts him.
— What? When? To where?
Before saying anything else, Tove led Sihtric to a more quiet place, so they could talk.
— I wasn't planning to tell you this now, but I was accepted into a master program in Denmark, and I don't know yet when I'm leaving. — she cuts Sihtric again as he tried to say something — Please, don't tell anyone yet.
— It's okay, it isn't my place to tell 'em. And I'll support you in anything you choose. — Sihtric hugs tightly — I'm gonna miss you, you know it, right?
— Of course you will, — she laughs as he pinched her side. — I'm gonna miss you too, but now let's go back before they noticed and before I start to cry.
They came back and acted like nothing had happened, just like the ones who noticed something was wrong. Tove tried not to think so much about anything at all, they went out to club and have a great time, so she will try to do so.
She gave her best trying to keep in the partying mood, but at the moment she left the bar and entered the cab to go home, Tove couldn't hold her tears anymore.
The next weeks was a complete mess, Tove's time was consumed by things related to her master program, she had to plan her moving, check her documents and so many more. Fortunately she had her family to help her, as they're the only ones who knows she is moving. She had planned leaving in the middle of summer, but she had to change her plans due to her friends announcement after her graduation ceremony, that they're travelling this summer to the beach. And this isn't the kind of event she can refuse to go.
So she got her things packed, both for their trip and for her moving, and just as she finished, Tove heard the bell ring. She wasn't expecting no one to show up, so she was really surprised to see Eadith at the other side of the door, and even more to see the tears in her eyes.
— Oh! Eadith, what happened? — Tove asked worried, and before she could get some answer Eadith throw herself in Tove's arms. And Tove could never deny a safe place to her.
She could feel Eadith grabing her shirt to keep her closer, and the absence of an answer made her even more worried, if it was possible.
— Hey, love, it's alright, — Tove whispered while caressing her hair, trying to make her calm. — Please, come in so you can tell me what happened.
Eadith noded and stepped back to follow Tove into her house. She led her to the couch and brought her to sit close to her. Eadith didn't say nothing on the first moment, but after a time playing with Tove's wristband, she started,
— I, I had an argument with Bresal, — Tove could feel her blood boil by only hearing his name — He got too hostile over me, and.. and he bruised me.
She motions to her wrist and Tove could see the bruise there, she had to control herself to not scare Eadith with the anger she's feeling now.
— I didn't know what do or where to go, I could only think of you so I came here.
— Eadith, you're ok now, right? I'm glad you came to me, you will always find a safe place with me, you know it? — Tove only felt Eadith noded while hugging her. — I swear if I see that turd he'll regret everything he has done in his life. No one dares to raise a finger to my pumpkin.
Eadith laughed at the silly nickname Tove had gave her years ago, when they met. —Your hair reminds me of pumpkin pies, so it's fair for you to be my pumpkin. — she said.
Tove felt relieved to achieve her goal, Eadith now is more calm and hearing that laugh made her heart warm. She could spend a lifetime hearing that laugh, seeing her girl happy makes her the happiest person. Her girl. Stop it, you fool, she's not your girl. Tove thought and regretted at the same moment.
Eadith got way more calm after spending some time with Tove, so she insisted to her to stay for the night. Eadith couldn't say no.
And when Sihtric went to talk with his sister after arriving at home and found the two cuddling while Eadith was already asleep, he didn't say anything, just smiled at Tove.
On the next day, they were all meeting to head to the airport, Tove and Osferth checking everyones documents and necessary items, as they always do before their trips, when they saw that turd, Bresal, passing by with a black eye and Eadith could only see a glimpse of a smirk on Tove's face while she continues to do her things, pretending she didn't see it.
The flight wasn't so long, and soon they arrived at their destination. The house they're staying was beautiful, close to the beach, it was perfect, except for having only a few rooms so they will all share. It wasn't a problem at all, Uhtred and Sihtric with their girlfriends got a room each, Finan and Osferth was sharing another, Tove and Eadith would also share the room and Aethelflaed was the only one to get a room only for herself. — I rented the house, so I get the room for myself. — she said.
It was okay for Tove to share a room with Eadith, nothing that they haven't done before. The real problem was that the room have just one bed. So Tove will have to share a bed with Eadith for three weeks, and she doesn't know how strong she can be, having to sleep so close to the woman she aches for. It will be a cruel summer with her.
The first nights were a bit awkward, but no one said nothing until they got used to it. A couple days have passed since they arrived, they had spent most of their days at the beach, and wandering around the small city they're staying at. Now it's evening and her friends are getting ready to go out for dinner, Tove have already decided she wasn't going with them tonight, and someone have asked her to check if Eadith is going with them.
So that's what Tove was going to do when she entered their room at the same time Eadith was leaving the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, looking for her clothes. Tove's mind was getting far from what she was supposed to do it, she could only think how she wanted to touch her pale skin, and trace her fingers the same path as water drops. She was so lost in her own mind that she didn't noticed Eadith calling her.
— Tove, everything's alright?
— Oh, yeah yeah, — she could feel her cheeks getting warm after being caught — I just came to ask if you're going out for dinner or if you're gonna stay?
— I'm gonna skip it today, I need to get a rest, 'm still too tired from the beach.
If I could do everything that I want, the last thing you would get is a rest. Tove thought. Gods, I need to stop thinking about this.
She only nodded and left, heading downstairs to tell her friends they're staying. After getting herself a quick snack, Tove went back to her room and found Eadith brushing her hair.
— Oh god, you scared the shit out of me! What are you doing here? — she asked exasperated, making Tove let out a laugh.
— I'm sorry, bae. — Tove got closer and left a kiss on the top of her head, — I didn't want to go out neither. — she said while looking for some comfortable clothes to sleep.
After a while, they were both lying in bed, Tove was trying to read but couldn't focus on other thing than Eadith turning from side to side. She left her book at the bedside table before turning to Eadith.
— Can't sleep?
— No. — she pouted her lips and Tove couldn't think of anything cuter than this.
— Come here, then. — Tove opened her arms and Eadith accepted her embrace. She felt her body tensed but as she started caressing her hair, she could felt Eadith's body relaxing.
The silence remained for a while, Tove thinking that Eadith had already slept but suddenly felt her body tensing again.
— Tove? — she asked with a low, muffled voice, as her face was pressed against Tove's neck, which made her feel shivers.
— Hmm, yeah?
— Do you remember that last party at Erik's? — now it's time for Tove's body tenses.
— I, I.. Yes, I remember.. Wh-what about?
— When you.. when you kissed me, — she moved to look at Tove's eyes. — Did you really meant to do that, or.. you were just drunk acting?
— Eadith...
— No, tell me, I need to know Tove, please.
Tove hesitated a bit before answering, — I did mean to do it.
— Then why did you pretend you didn't remember? — Eadith frowned her eyebrows.
— 'Cause.. I wanted to do it again! It was easier to pretend I didn't remember and didn't want to do it again. It was easier to try to forget than bring this up and ruin our friend-
Her words were cut off by Eadith's lips crashing against hers. Tove was too surprised to react at first, but she didn't miss a second after realizing what was happening. She had Eadith's lips against her owns again. And this time was better than the first.
Tove didn't waste more time, guiding her hands through Eadith's body until it reaches her waist, pulling her even closer. She let out a soft moan when Eadith pulled her hair, making her smile against Tove's lips, happy to cause that reaction on her.
Tove's hands found the way under Eadith's shirt, the contrast between her cold fingers and the warm skin made the ginger gasp, which opened the way for her tongue between Eadith's lips, deepening the kiss even more. Tove could die on her lips and she wouldn't care, she desire this for so long.
She grasps all flesh she can reach, not wanting to let it go, she wants to live this forever, nothing seems to be enough. She can't get enough of Eadith. It was all so new, the shape of her body. Making out with a woman it was definitely better than she imagined. She needs to have her at least once in her lifetime, before she goes.
— Love, you don't need to rush, we have the whole summer, hmm. — Eadith says after breaking the kiss, her fingers now caressing Tove's face.
And Tove didn't have the courage to tell Eadith they didn't. She didn't have the courage to end what had started now.
So she just muttered in agree, letting go.
The next day, Tove is awakened by the sunlight hitting her face, making her grumble. She misses the feeling of Eadith's body pressed against hers so she quickly get up, which cause Eadith to laugh from the other side of the room.
— Calm down, love, I didn't go anywhere, — she says climbing one the bed coming closer to Tove, giving her a soft kiss. — Good morning. — she whisper to her, putting her hair behind her ear.
Tove turns her face to kiss Eadith's hand, — Morning.. — she muttered against her palm. — I missed you next to me, it was sooo comfortable. — Tove's voice was a bit hoarse from the sleep, and that made Eadith feel something, definitely.
— I wish we could stay like this but you need to get up, Finan came to say we're going to another beach today, which is far so we need to leave earlier.
— Just more five minutes, please.. — she asks, snuggling in Eadith.
— It's tempting, you know, but we really need to get ready. — she says and leaves the bed again. — And if you don't get up, you won't be sleeping with me tonight.
It was comical the way Tove got up so quickly.
They didn't tell anyone what was happening between them. They use to be this close since always, so it wasn't awkward to see Tove and Eadith holding hands, cuddling, living in their own world. But Sihtric noticed it was something more, and he was sure something was happening when he saw the love bites. And Sihtric knows his sister well enough to know she didn't said anything about leaving.
One night they were all at the house deck, chatting, drinking, playing some card games until it was very late and one by one started to retire to their rooms, only lefting Eadith, Tove and Sihtric. The ginger one whispered to Tove she'll be waiting her and said good night to Sihtric before leaving. Tove blew a kiss to her and was smiling at the direction she went, until she heard Sihtric calling her.
— So, what's up between you two?
— Hm, what d'you mean?
— C'mon, I'm not blind, are you two finally together? How did that happened?
Tove sighed, knowing she couldn't hide anything from her brother even if she tried.
— It just happened. We didn't talk about what we are, we just enjoying each other, it's summer after all.
— So, you did tell her you're leaving, right?
— I didn't..
— Tove, you- — Sihtric started but Tove cut him off.
— Don't say it, I know I'm being stupid, but I can't tell her, I cannot not have this with her, at least for now. — Sihtric was trying to say something, and Tove didn't let him. — I'm a coward, I know and I don't need you saying this and how wrong I am. — Tove didn't noticed the tears coming to her eyes and starting to fall. — I just.. I have longed this so much, I need to have this with her even if it's going to end soon, but I can't leave without it.
Sihtric came closer and held her, wiping her tears. He waited until she calm down to say something.
— I won't say what you want to hear, because I care for you and I want you to do the right thing. And I also care for Eadith, so I can't let you carry on with this and not tell you to talk with her. I know you won't gave up moving, it's your dream after all, and she would never ask you to do so. So please, tell her, I know she will understand. Tell her before it's too late and you hurt both of you.
Tove didn't tell her.
She couldn't tell her when she entered the room and saw Eadith in a tiny purple matching underwear, waiting for her in their bed.
The only things to leave Tove's lips that night was praisings and soft moans.
She was longing for Eadith, but she wasn't rough on her. Tove loved her on the most pure and passionate way, lustful though. She needed to let Eadith know how much she loves her through her acts.
Every single touch, kiss, bite, was full of Tove's passion for her. Tove could only hope Eadith would get it everytime Tove looks up grinning like a devil after bringing her to the edge, she hoped Eadith would get how much she worshiped her.
Time just flew by and the last week came. They're a few days away from going home so Tove decided to spend more time with Eadith alone. The redhead was almost sleeping after returning from the beach when Tove called her, telling to get ready.
Half an hour later, they're finally arriving at their destination.
— It's a date then, uh? — Eadith said after many times trying to know where they're going.
— Oh, shut up! — Tove said playfully, intertwining their hands again to lead her on the rocky way.
— It's so cliche of you taking me to a date on a secret place, you know that, right?
Tove stopped and turned back to her, her hands now cupping Eadith cheeks, which turned red after Tove looks at her with such intensity, she leaned on her, their lips now brushing against each other. — I know.. — she whispered and gave in, kissing Eadith deep. Tove will miss that so much.
They only broke the kiss when breathing was needed, the two girls panting heavily after an intense kiss. If Eadith's cheeks were already red, now they're even more.
It was only then that Eadith noticed where Tove had take her. They were at a viewpoint at the rocks of the beach, the sun was now setting and they had a privilege view of it, which made the place even prettier. But still, for Tove, the most beautiful thing to see there is Eadith. Her hair and skin were glowing against the sunlight, her eyes shining, completly enchanted by the view, and Tove completely enchanted by her.
— I found it earlier this morning when I went out, I thought you'd like to see. — Tove said only loud enough for Eadith to hear, not wanting to break the atmosphere.
— Oh, I loved it, It's so pretty. — Eadith answered, still focused on the view.
— Yes, so pretty... — Tove let out a little laugh, taking Eadith's hand in hers again, bringing it to her lips and leaving soft kisses all over it.
Tove led her to a bench there, bringing Eadith to sat on her lap, rounding her waist and resting on the crook of her neck. They just sat there for a moment, the quietness only being broke by the sound of the waves and the gasps and soft moans as they kiss. After breaking the kiss, they just stayed there in silence, their foreheads resting against each other, their breaths becoming just one.
— Tove, I think I- — The brunette shut her up by kissing her. She knew what Eadith was about to say, and she couldn't let her do it.
— There's no need of words, babe. — she whispered and Eadith just nodded and kissed her again.
Tove wish she could say it, and hear Eadith saying it, but she just couldn't. Not when she's about to leave.
When the day came, Tove gave her best to hold the tears when she look at their room and the beach for the last time. She was too quiet on the way to the airport and Eadith noticed it, and tried to cheer her up, — The summer is not over yet. — she said. But it is over to Tove, the moment she gets off that plane it is over.
While in the flight back to home, Tove decided to enjoy these last hours with Eadith, with too many kisses and sweet words, which made Finan change seats with Osferth, saying he couldn't stand one more minute with 'these two love birds', making them laugh.
And too soon, the time has come. As soon as they landed, they took their baggages and headed to the arrival gate to meet Ragnar and Brida, who were to be their ride to home, but they were all surprised when they met not only Ragnar and Brida, but also Tove and Sihtric's parents.
They all greeted each other and was talking about how the flight was, until Aethelflaed noticed the amount of baggage next to Tove's parents.
— Wait, are you going to travel again? — she asked looking between Tove and Sihtric.
— No, not them. I am, actually. — Tove answered starting to feeling nervous.
— What? To where? — Finan asked confused.
Tove could feel her hands shaking before she answer. — A University in Denmark accepted me in a master program, so.. I'm moving.
— Why you didn't tell us such good news? — It was time for Osferth to ask and he came to give her a hug, congratulating her.
— Yeah, and why didn't you tell us you were going today? — Uhtred questioned.
— I didn't want to ruin the trip mood making it a farewell trip. I know you will miss me, but don't worry, I'll be back and you won't even notice I was gone. — Everyone laughed at her coment and they all started to say goodbye, wishing her good luck on this new journey.
The only one who didn't make a move was Eadith, she was still shocked at the news, not even knowing how to act. She waited everyone talk with Tove before approaching her.
— Tove, hmm, can we talk? In private? — she asked with a low voice, uncertain of what to say.
— Oh.. Sure, yeah, let's.. Let's get a coffee. — Tove felt like she was freaking out. She was regretting so much not telling her she was leaving.
When they left, Tove could feel the gaze of all her friends, the atmosphere was now heavy and they sensed it.
They went to one of the millions cafeterias at the airport, Tove got a black coffee for her and Eadith's favourite tea before they went to a table.
Tove was about to say something when Eadith started, — So that's it, you're leaving?
— I have to.
— After all these weeks, you didn't think about telling me that it would be over as soon as we came back?
— Look, Eadith- — Tove's words were cut off by Eadith.
— No, after all these nights we spent together and now you're just leaving? Did I mean nothing to you? Did that night mean nothing to you? I gave myself to you and now what?
— Babe, please, hear me. — Tove took Eadith's hands in hers but she pulled it back.
— Don't call me that.. — Tove's heart broke even more after hearing that, she could feel how Eadith was broken because of her.
— I'm sorry, I know I should have told you, look, I tried to but I couldn't. You mean everything to me, every night we spent together mean everything to me. But I just couldn't leave without knowing what it is to be with you. I know I'm stupid and a coward, I swear I know, — Tove had to stop to breath and she noticed the tears were falling down her face, — Believe me, I hate myself for hurting you, but after having a glimpse of what it is to be with you, I couldn't stop, 'cause I'm so fucking in love with you that I wouldn't stand leave without have even kissed you again.
— I was afraid of telling you because I was afraid of loosing you. I need to go but I also need you, and this isn't the kind of thing I can choose between. Now I see I chose the worst way to go and not only lose you, I hurt you, so I'm sorry.
— I would never ask you to leave your dreams behind, Tove, you know that. I wouldn't want to choose me over your dream, you didn't need to choose between one or another, you could have it all. — She got up from her seat and approached Tove. — But I'm afraid you can't have it anymore. Farewell, love, enjoy your time there, I know you'll do your best. — Eadith left a last kiss on her forehead before she walked away.
And Tove? She stayed there for a while, tears still falling, too many eyes on her, before she decided it was time to go. So she left, she said goodbye to her friends and family one more time and boarded to Denmark.
#ems500#eadith x oc#eadith x reader#modern eadith#modern tlk#the last kingdom#the last kingdom x oc#tove kjartandottir
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The Last Kingdom Masterlist
All my reader stories are based on female reader unless otherwise specified.
Any stories labeled with *** contain smut and are 18+ only!
Coccham squad- moodboard
For tlkafterparty and based on Taylor Swift lyrics.
Finan
-Aes Sídhe- Part 1 Part 2
Finan stumbles upon a beautiful woman in the forest. Before he can find out who she is, she vanishes. Can he find her again or will she only be a memory for him to cherish? Was she even real or one of the aes sídhe?
-The Prospective Bride
A prospective bride comes to Wessex for Aethelwold. When they meet her, she is not at all what they were expecting.... and she catches the eye of a certain Irishman.
-Anchor in the Waves series [complete]
Finan is a slave, forced to row ceaselessly. Betrayed by those he trusted. He believes this will be the end of his life, salt water caking him and an shackle on his ankle. Yet Fate has other plans. When he arrives in Islond for the winter, he meets her. A kindred spirit. Soon they both realize how they need the other. Can they save one another? Or will the wind and whips tear them apart?
-First Time ***
“I want Finan to take my virginity.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I realized it was probably not wise to announce my intentions so blatantly.
Sihtric
-Rage Like Ice
“Look at me.” He said softly, yet the command rang loudly in his words. You shook your head, tears gathering in your eyes.
“Who did this to you?”
-Sinners and Saints
One day you stumble upon your childhood friend, Osferth, whom you have not seen in years. Yet the more time you spend with him, the more you find yourself drawn to his companion, Sihtric….and the butterflies his dark eyes give you.
-To Be My Night And My Day -- Part 1*** / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 in-progress
Hvitserk has been your best friend since childhood, the one you can always rely on. So when you start doubting your current relationship with Sihtric, Hvitserk kindly offers to help you out….but the consequences are never what you expected.
Crossover Fic w/ Vikings. Hvitserk/Reader/Sihtric
Uhtred
-Of The Same Stone series [in-progress]
"You will tell me your story." He whispered into her ear.
Because if there was one thing he knew in his chaotic life, it was the need to know her past. For they were both similar and different. Molded by the world of both Saxon and Dane. Refined by the fires of betrayal and vengeance. While he wielded a sword, sworn an oath to a king to bring about his dream, she lived quietly in the background. Yet there was something that kept drawing him back to her, even more than his curiosity….and he knew she felt it too.
She smirked as she drew away from him. "If you say so, my lord."
Ragnar the Younger
-Crossing Blades
I was sent to deliver a message to the leader of the Danes invading my beloved homeland. To give a threat and warning. Though soon, I found myself crossing blades with this Ragnar the Younger....and not all the blades were made of iron.
Sigtryggr
-My Promise
Sigtryggr reveals why he agreed to Brida's plan to take Wintanceaster.
-Temptation Part 1/ Part 2
When you were hired as the new secretary, you had no idea your boss was the embodiment of a sex god. And by then, it was too late to quit. Can you keep your relationship strictly professional or will the temptation become too much?
-Gif edit
Based on quote from LOTR and created for the tlkafterparty challenge.
Pillows and Promises
A childhood activity leads to a revelation.
#mz writes#The Last Kingdom#the last kingdom fanfic#finan the last kingdom#the last kingdom fandom#the last kingdom imagine#finan#finan the agile#finan x reader#finan x ofc#finan x oc#Sihtric#sihtric x reader#ragnar the younger#ragnar the younger x reader#Uhtred#Uhtred of Bebbanburg#Uhtred Ragnarson#osferth#FATHER BEOCCA#hild#Thyra#alfred the great#aethelwold#mzwrites#sigtryggr#sigtryggr ivarsson#sigtryggr x reader#sigtryggr ivarsson x reader#rognvaldr
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My lil masterlist
My masterlist is hereeeee, I’m a true tumblr writer now *w*
* indicates smut :)
The fate of a nun (Finan x OFC) [on hold]
Chapter One: The Lady and the nun
Chapter Two: Ale and Princes
Chapter Three: Injures and betrayal
Chapter Four: Iron and Water
Chapter Five: Stories and Returns
Chapter Six: Leaving
Chapter Seven: Cenric
One Shots
Dove (Finan x Reader)*
#finan#finan x reader#finan x oc#finan x ofc#finan fic#finan the agile#tlk#tlk finan#the last kingdom#the last kingdom finan#the last kingdom finan fic#the last kingdom fictions#the last kingdom fic#uthred#sithric#osferth#aethelflaed#the last kingdom smut#finan smut
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timeless | chapter four
author's note: almost reaching the end with this one - the chapter was a little bit tougher, still emotional, but hopefully it's worth the read :) Lots of love and stay safe 💕
The new year came and went, the season rolling towards its end as the city rested under its temperamental weather.
Some time had passed since the coven gathering, the events having become a simple dusted memory.
Though that night was bittersweet, it had allowed Finan to lead the semblance of a normal life, engorging himself within the depth of her embrace.
Becca had followed, wanting nothing more than to gift him the simplest of joys.
It carried them through the holidays, and over the lasting months of winter.
And however strong it was built, cracks were starting to shake the foundation to its core, crumbling under the weight of fear and anger.
Survivors were still being assessed for damage.
“Marcus.” Her voice carried across the wide room as they were the only ones left. “What do I owe this surprise visit, brother?”
The man in question had been sitting in the crowd, hiding himself at the corner top of the class while silently watching over Becca’s teaching. She had only noticed his presence when peering over her students, taking a mental note of the present volume.
Breath stuck to her throat, she shook off the uneasiness and went on with her lesson of the day, focusing on her work.
When it came time to dismiss them, her brother had walked down the steps towards her, slowly until the room was empty.
“Am I not allowed to visit my little sister and see her in action?” He tried to tease, adding a little amusement to his tone of voice.
She saw right through it, knowing that his visit held a bigger agenda.
Becca loved her brother; he was one of the very few parental figures in her life she had a good relationship with. They bantered and fought like any other siblings, but at the end of the day, she knew their bond could withstand even the worst of storms.
“Marcus.” She pressed on his name, pushing him to reveal his reason for the sudden appearance.
Standing in front of her, he sighed, giving up the pretense. “I’m here because I’m worried about you.”
She frowned at his words.
They were close but it never meant they were always talking to each other. They each led their own lives, which meant they were apart from each other more often than they were together. It was confusing enough to have him show up out of the blue, it was worse when he seemed genuinely concerned for her.
“Have you been spying on me?”
“I don’t have too to know what’s going on. You’ve been the talk over the holidays. We’re all worried.”
She dismissed him as she started packing her belongings, clearing her desk as fast as she could. “No need to be troubled, I have everything under control.”
He scoffed, his body tensing at her apathetic reaction. “Really? Does having everything under control include the nightmares you’ve been having, little sister?”
As shock dawned across her features, he proceeded with an answer to her silent inquiry. “Finan came to see me… You two haven’t been speaking, he says. Some kind of couple’s quarrel I gather?”
The grip to her bag had tightened, her gaze diverting elsewhere as she swallowed the lump in her throat. “It is none of your business.” Once again, she had tried to push her brother away, not wanting to be stuck in her current position any longer.
He grew annoyed at her demeanour, not understanding why she was taking things so lightly. She was struggling - he could see it, and yet she remained poised, too stubborn to concede.
“You made it my business when you’ve willingly been giving away your life for a bloody curse that does not concern you!” The increased vocals had caught her by surprise. Dropping her bag, a light thud reaching the desk, she turned back to him, eyes wide.
She remained still; he continued.
“You woke up with a sliced throat Rebecca! She almost killed you!” At the mention of the nightmare that had torn the couple apart, she held onto herself; hands on her stomach and gripping at her shirt, as if to stabilize her body in its stance. She looked down, avoiding Marcus’ worried stare. The bile had come back, an uninvited guest, crippling her.
He let out a heavy breath, the tension following suit. He tried to become calm, noticing she was starting to crack at the seam. “Finan told me what happened. You need to stop this madness. I know you love him. But you must stop.”
She tried to swallow, though it did nothing but trigger tears stalking the corners of her eyes. She couldn’t look at her brother, and so she stood still, her head down. “I can’t let her win.”
And she didn’t need to turn to him; he knew her like the back of his hand. He approached her, hand on her shoulder. “She wins when she kills you, sister.”
Anger was surging, like an ember; the plea for her abandonment was dragging her patience thin, the way you drag a child away from amusement.
She pushed his hand away, finally lifting her head to him as bitterness scraped her tongue. “Then help me, brother.” The tone of her voice insinuated mockery of the title before switching to anguish. “Help me get rid of her. As the oldest in the next generation, you are powerful. Help me. I beg you.”
His shoulders dropped, beaten down by her plea. Had the situation been different, he would’ve offered her anything she needed.
But the consequences were too dire to meddle in the affairs of the old witch.
It wasn’t worth his risk.
And so, he had no choice but to solemnly turn his only sister down. “You know I can’t.”
She bit down the inside of her cheek, forcing herself to suppress her tears. She grew irritated instead, forsaken once again by one of her own.
“You’re just like the rest of them, then.” She breathed in deeply, holding onto her bag as she looked away, no longer able to hold her brother’s pitiful gaze. “Just go. I’ll finish this on my own.”
He was unrelenting, praying that she would get hold of some sense of the danger she was walking into.
“What happens if you fail? What then?”
She was about done putting her paperwork in her bag when she suddenly stopped at his words, the syllables of failure ringing in her ears. “I won’t fail.” She closed her eyes, a part of her ever so slowly succumbing; her hands gripped onto the desk, knuckles white from the strength, not ready to give up. “I cannot fail him.” Her breath was shaking, following the subtle tremors of her body.
He sighed as he ran his hand through his hair.
A moment’s passed, the silence hung heavy in the air as he watched her, heartbroken.
He leaned against her desk, hand on hers, a brotherly gesture she had missed.
He spoke gently, wanting to make her see what her stubbornness was causing.
“He is miserable. It doesn’t look like he has been sleeping and last I saw him, an elephant could have fainted at the amount of bourbon he was drinking.” He saw her jaw tightened - his words were getting through, creating cracks in the hopes the pieces would shatter. “He misses you, and he is terrified of losing you. Why can’t you understand that?
“I understand it, Marcus-”
Irritation had reached him, the stems pricking him.
“You just don’t care, is that it?”
And so now, she lashed out. Her voice carried across the wide classroom as she turned her body to fully face her brother, vexed and saddened. “Of course, I care! That’s why I’m doing this!” She went back to her bag, picking it up and ready to walk out. “Now if you’ll excuse me.”
“The witch won’t stop until you are dead. Know this.” She had her back to him, walking out when she halted in her steps. She then turned around, finding her brother standing right by her side.
“As long as I can defeat her, I don’t care what she does to me.” She stepped forward, staring him right in his eyes, her pain apparent in her pupils. “What she did to him was inhumane. It is cruel.”
His words had left without a thought attached to them. They had slipped out too quickly, unable to be caught in time. “No crueler than the reason she cursed him?”
She clenched her jaw, falling in disbelief at his remark. “Screw you-” She was ready to leave him again, but he caught her, his hand catching her arm and forcing her still.
He regretted it just as quickly as they left, retracting his words with an apology. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.” He lifted his hands up in a sign of a retreat before dropping them with a heavy breath escaping his lungs. “You’re my little sister, Rebecca… I’m just scared you’re out of your depth here.”
She still hadn’t caved into his worries, too angry to be subdued by his pity. “Which is why you’re helping me? Or is that still out of the question?” He didn’t speak up; she hadn’t let him. “Don’t say you are concerned for my safety when none of you are offering help.”
Once more, a sibling tantrum had taken over, distancing brother and sister from their bond - temporarily.
“I’m sorry I don’t want to be haunted and tormented for the rest of my life and beyond. I have a wife and children to think about!”
Stubbornness ran in their family, the trait clinging to her like a child. Though, it wasn’t reason enough for him to give up; he wasn’t going to lose his sister over a fight that had started before their family was even born. “Drop whatever you’re doing and reconcile with him. Let this go.”
And just as such, she remained headstrong, not ready to give up - she still had a case to be heard.
“What if my dearest sister-in-law was in his shoes? What then? Would you still be so adamant to drop everything and leave her be?”
Disappointed she stooped so low, he looked back at her with the sentiment covering his features. “That’s not fair.”
“Exactly.” She stood her ground, not withering away from the upset gaze she was receiving. “I don’t care if she gets me as long as he is free from her. That’s all I want.” Her gaze then softened, the echo of Finan’s pain resonating through her bones. “He needs it. He can’t keep going on like this.”
Once again, he sighed, exasperated, as his head dropped in thought. Becca knew her brother well enough to see the gears in his brain turning, contemplating.
It took a moment, and she let him be, her stance loosening away from the tension.
He ran his hand down his face, his right arm standing at his hip. From the ground, he tilted his head back up to her, his chest letting out one last breath before gifting her with the possibility of a new avenue.
“Sacrifices need to be made if you want to succeed. Plead your case to them. Don’t do this on your own.”
She furrowed her brows, her own thoughts connecting the dots to his remark. “You mean-”
He nodded at her question, his shoulders joining in a composed shrug. “If she did it and invoked chaos, why can’t you do it as well and call for order?”
He shared a comforting smile as he backed away, ready to leave.
As he turned around and went for the classroom door, she stopped him, her own anxiety reaching the surface. “Marcus-”
He sensed the tears crawling to her irises, the colour shimmering under the weight of the water. Her voice cracked, her heartache resonating towards him. “Why is this happening?”
Walking back, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in protectively; the bear hug was the brotherly gesture that would always bring her comfort.
This time around however, she was left with a dissatisfying aftertaste that clung to her, wearing her heavy.
“I don’t know, dear sister. I just hope you win this fight. For your sake.” He pulled away, his eyes finding hers as he shifted his head down. He remained gentle, wanting now to ease his little sister’s ache. “You are right. The man deserves peace.” And then, something shifted; the air surrounding them was suspended with a slight rift - invisible to the naked eye, though he still sensed it.
It left a ghost of a smile covering the right corner of his lips. “Something tells me you will be recompensed for this.”
His goodbye left her confused, his words haunting her without understanding their meaning.
Once he was out of sight and she stood alone, her gaze fell to the clock that hung above the door.
Her legs grew weak. She took a seat, her bag dropping to the ground.
She leaned over, her elbows resting on her knees with her fingers grasping at her hair.
Closing her eyes, the events that led to tonight were finding their path into her sight, blinding her. They hadn’t spoken nor seen one another since the night he walked out on her, since the night she had woken up with blood spewing from her throat.
It had been weeks.
She reached for her neck, rubbing the lingering ghost of discomfort that coated her skin; she had been forced to relive the death of Finan’s first love.
And it destroyed him.
Playing it over, and over again took its toll.
Tears had smothered her cheeks, sorrow imbued into their purpose.
She had become a spectator of her own show, the scene displaying itself in all its gory details.
It had happened in the middle of the night, all too rapidly. The way she woke up in terror, unable to breathe as she clutched at her throat, blood seeping through from the deep cut of a dagger, down her body to the bed sheets.
She tried shaking the violent images away, the soreness still resounding over her limb.
Her amulet had protected her from instant death, the simulation growing weaker until it disappeared.
But it was the scene that followed that turned out to be more painful than its predecessor - Finan had walked out, furious and horrified.
The clock was quietly ticking away, the only sound vibrating within the walls of the wide room, becoming a haunting melody to her ears.
The longer it went on, the heavier her shoulders felt.
She couldn’t bear another minute dropping while being apart from him.
Without a second thought, she picked up her bag and ran for the door, desperate to shorten the stretch of time that separated them.
“How did you find me?”
“Locator spell.”
She was standing by his side, facing his profile while he stared at his drink. Her words didn’t get a reaction out of him, which she half-expected. “You went to Marcus behind my back…” It was more of a statement than an accusation, or even a question.
And yet, nothing came of him; from his glass, he simply looked up, his eyes landing on whatever the screen was displaying above the bar.
She sighed, taking a seat next to him. She took a minute, fidgeting with her fingers as she looked around; the tiniest of smiles was itching across her lips.
“This is where we first met…”
“I guess it is.” It was barely a mumble, though loud enough for her to hear.
He remained distant, avoiding eye contact with her.
He was still hurting.
He took a sip from his beer, giving himself the chance to look around as well - wanting to wander at anything but her.
He wasn’t strong enough to face her; having brutally cut ties was one of the hardest thing he ever had done and it still gnawed at him from the inside out.
“Please, come back home.” The gentle plea was laced with grief.
Finan was expecting more light chit-chatter to dissuade the tensing thickness that had wrapped around them. Such awkwardness was strangling them.
He tightened his grip to his glass, her words making his shoulders stiffened.
He was dying to go back to her, but lost the courage to do it.
He took another sip, letting the bitter liquid sit on his tongue before he swallowed. He still didn’t lift his head up to her. Instead, he was looking down to the counter, the corner of his eyes meeting her hands that rested on her lap.
“The night we met.” He wasn’t thinking about what to say, his mind having taken over his will to speak. “I felt like a different man… Like I was alive again, truly alive, and not just some poor soul wandering through the passing centuries.”
He closed his eyes, gathering his strength to keep going. He felt like he was going to crumble and disappear under the rubble, his heart giving out from how deep his love for her ran in his veins. His mind then went back to the night they met, the impromptu connection that formed the second they had laid eyes on each other. “You gave me something that night that I still carry with me every single day. And yet, the closer we got, the deeper we fell-” He bit down on his tongue, trying to stop himself, but part of him pushed him out, the words stumbling. “I can’t help but wonder if all this was orchestrated by her, if…”
By the end of it, she was in tears again, holding back a sob that lodged in her throat.
She leaned towards him, placing her hand above his, the warmth of it humming against her skin.
He turned his head just enough to see the interaction, still unable to meet her.
“We met because Fate made it so. Not because of the curse.” She then reached for him, her fingers delicately placed under his chin, turning his head to her. He had shut his eyes, pained scribbled furiously across his face.
Her heart ached.
She let him be, leaning closer as she spoke only to him. “When I first saw you, I don’t know what it was, but I just- it was like the world disappeared. Like it was just the two of us left. This makes me believe she had nothing to do with that night. That was us. Just us and no one else.”
“How are ya so sure?” He had pulled away, the weight of her words growing heavier.
Her fingertips grew cold from the lack of touch; it pained her.
She pulled her hand away, though her body remained close to his, adamant.
“Because I can feel it.” Her nose itched, the urge to cry coming through like a wave. “I feel it in everything we do. It overwhelms me, and it’s exhilarating… It’s all from here.” She placed her hand on his chest, right over his broken heart. “There is no more powerful magic than that.”
He sat still, the warmth of her touch sending chills down his spine, his heart rate accelerating.
“Finan, look at me.” He finally moved on his own, his head tilting to her, though his eyes only reached the counter once again. She remained gentle and patient. “What are you thinking about?”
He struggled to put the words out, his heart squeezing itself tight, suffocating from his mind’s wandering thoughts.
“I-I lose the women I love… What if it’s part of the curse?”
He finally gathered whatever strength he had left to look at her, meeting her eyes at last. They held sorrow, mirroring his own browns, though a drop of lingering panic had seeped in, curling itself with his words. “You almost died. I was holding you in my arms and ya were d-dying.”
He stopped, catching his breath.
She was quiet, still - waiting.
“I cannot go through that again.” His eyes went to her neck; all he could see was the blood tainting her skin, freshly rolling down into oblivion.
It broke him.
She had noticed where his gaze landed. She diverted his eyes back to her, her fingers resting against his cheek.
“And I am scared of losing you as well. You’re not alone in feeling like this.”
He said nothing.
Instead, a moment of silence encircled them - a few seconds too long before she eventually broke it. “When Marcus came to see me, he mentioned there is another way.”
“What do you mean?”
“I need to invoke some higher power…” She shared an attempt at a comforting smile, a little something to hopefully ease the discomfort that had been inhabiting him. “We’ll be alright, my love.” She gently ran her fingers through his hair before stroking his cheek, a tender gesture he quietly welcomed. “We’ll get through this. Just please come home.”
She pleaded to him once again, despair leaping. “Come home to me.”
He was still hesitant; the fear had taken hold of him and so he thought it best to leave her be.
Becca grew annoyed, irritated at his lack of determination.
“Be selfish, Finn!” Her voice was just loud enough to catch some of the other’s attention, the ones closest to them in the vicinity. She breathed out and lowered her tone. “You’re allowed to want your freedom. To die at last and never having to wake up again. To be mortal… Be selfish with me. Come home.”
He swallowed the lump in his throat, drowning his insides with such ache. Tears in his eyes, he could only look away from her, the back of his head facing Becca.
He stayed mute.
The straws were falling - she was hanging on to the last one, splinters covering its body, close to breaking.
She clenched her jaw; his silence forced her out.
She walked away, her heart breaking, the shards cutting her deep.
Finan saw her leave, her feet leading her to the exit and out of sight; it filled him with dread, regret soaking in his blood.
Had she finally given up on him?
The pain of possibly losing her had coated the depth of his soul, his own self unable to breathe from such suffocating thoughts.
Watching her walk away had made it worse.
Abandoning his drink, he ran for the door and out onto the streets, hoping she hadn’t disappeared completely out of his life.
Hit with a cool breeze, he found her facing the street at the edge of the sidewalk with her head down.
She had fallen apart, silently crying as woe overtook her limbs.
He watched her, remorse crowding him.
Ever so gently, he walked to her. Once he stood close enough, she turned around, having sensed his presence.
The sight hurt him.
“Finding other ways to tear me down?” Her tone was bitter, the sentiment coating the back of her throat.
“Bex.”
She stepped back from him, her hand resting against his chest. “No. I’m not done.” She remained tearful, her emotions spewing out like an overflowing sink. “We’ve been at this for months now, why the change of heart? And don’t tell me it is because of her because she has been coming at me from the start and you never ran.” Her voice trembled, just as her body was against the cold night.
He frowned, hand scratching at his beard. “Bex, she almost killed you. Do you not realize what this would have meant had she succeeded?”
“Yes, I know. I’m not as blind as you or my brother think me to believe. I know what she is doing, or at least trying to do.”
The sour look in her eyes forced him to turn his head away from her, tears reaching his own hues.
Her sullen behaviour had finally caught up, the chaotic swerve of emotions forcing her to the ground.
She understood his pain, the fear that grasped him by the throat; if he was letting it win, why was she still fighting?
She tightened her hold around her coat, crossing her arms over her chest.
The bitterness that coloured her irises had been replaced by angst, a tortuous feeling crippling her heart.
“I don’t think I can keep fighting you on this…” He tilted his head to her, still without a word as her mouth moved for more. “You keep pushing me away and I feel like I won’t be able to hang on any longer. It’s like I’m standing at the edge of a cliff and one more push and I fall over.”
She became a blubbering mess, like a teenager hyped up on hormones and over-heightened senses.
She hugged herself closer, holding a firmer grasp to the fabric of her clothes. “You can’t leave me, Finan. Please don’t leave me over this.”
They locked eyes, her plea cutting his breath short.
“If not for me, at least, for yourself. You can’t-”
She was growing impatient; letting go of her waist, she ran her fingers through her hair, her feet marching to him. She lifted her head up, her gaze set on his as hurt trapped her. “Finan, I love you.” She leaned closer, just enough to feel his breath as she whispered against his mouth. “Come back to me.”
He felt her press her lips against his, the kiss moving slowly, tenderly. It was almost shy.
She then pulled away, feeling just as broken as the night he walked away. They stood still for a second, the lingering stare squeezing the air that floated between them.
He placed his hands on her cheeks, wiping her tears away and placing a kiss at the top of her head before resting against her forehead.
But it was only in passing, her cries still controlling her body as she mumbled under her breath her undying love for him. She broke away from his stare, her head dropping straight to the view in front of her. “Don’t leave me, don’t you dare leave me.” Her hands into fists, she had been lightly hitting him. It was a simple tug against his chest. He let her be, openly giving her the outlet she needed as he pulled away, though his hands never left her as they held her upper arms. He watched her intently, his heart never recuperating from the overdrive of emotions powering through them. “I know you love me, so please stay.”
Had he been further away, he wouldn’t have been able to hear the supplication crawling out of her.
Being selfish had cost him.
And he was terrified of doing it again, even though every cell in his body scolded him, pushing him to jump and take a leap of faith. To succumb to his want and simply be with her, amidst the chaos growing around them.
“Bex-”
The simple mention of her name, rolling down his tongue, carried such weight, such fright and dread, such terror.
She peered at him, catching the glint of sorrow in his eyes. She understood him; it was the way he had called out for her, it was all too evident, all to clear to miss.
Because she felt it too.
“I know.”
He wrapped his arms around her, bring ing her back to him as she did the same, clinging on for dear life before they eventually parted.
The way home remained quiet.
Back at her place, the atmosphere within them still shifted between tension and awkwardness. They weren’t sure what to do now.
They were standing apart, just looking at each other, trapped in the stillness of their home.
Watching her attentively, he could see the gears in her head turning, her posture giving it away. “Do you want some tea?” She was nervous, the emotional breakdown from earlier having gone through her at a rapid pace, leaving her with an estranged aftertaste.
“Sure.”
She took in his calm demeanour - unbeknownst he was dying inside, still ripped to pieces at the heartache they were drowning in.
She turned her back, walking to the kitchen, and went for the kettle while grabbing two mugs and putting them out.
She sensed him move about until she heard the shower turned on.
Out of his sight, her shoulders slumped, head dropped as she leaned towards the counter, letting the hiss of the boiling water cover her ears.
He had slipped away, needing a moment to recuperate himself and a hot shower would help clearing the tension carved in his muscles.
Under the running water, eyes closed, his mind wandered to the moments he got to live with her, wanting to feel again like they were anybody else with no threat or doom looming over them. Like their world wasn’t ending and they were simply a normal couple going through a rough patch.
Whether the recollections were lighthearted, romantic in nature, or even the ones that soaked in lust, he buried himself within the past months, wanting to get away from his predicament and the last couple of weeks.
The nightmares had swaddled him, the fabric of fear and paranoia gripping him like second skin.
He feared for her life and had thought that walking out, running away, would make all of this stop.
He should have known she wouldn’t given up.
How could she, when all she ever wanted was to grant him his freedom? The thing he longed for the longest, but never the most.
Not anymore.
Once done, feeling like he was waking up from a long sleep, he walked out to find her at the kitchen table, a simple wooden round and small enough to contain two seats; one for her, one for him.
She was lost in her thoughts while staring at her cup, the steam floating and roaming around.
He silently joined her, the air thick with tension.
Taking a seat, he sipped his tea, the warm liquid running through with a new wave of physical renewal pecking him.
She didn’t move, her body sticking to her chair, her eyes away from his.
He watched her, his pulsing heartbeat vibrating within him; there was a subtle beauty to her sadness, and he couldn’t look away. It moved him, the feel of her grief stretching him to the ends of the earth, grounding him as her vulnerability reached the deepest part of his soul and shaking him awake.
It was beyond everything he’s ever known.
He saw her strength, but she was barely hanging on by a thread.
The realization, the seismic events that had occurred in these last few months - he was wrong.
He was so wrong, he cursed at himself.
He loved her. With everything that lived inside him, he adored her.
And it pained him to know he was the cause of her sorrows.
“I’m sorry.” His apology was spoken as a whisper, his voice still carrying weight to her ears.
From her mug, her eyes lifted to him. She was no longer angry, only empathetic. “You don’t have to apologize-”
“Of course I do.” His shoulders had dropped, his back resting against the chair, defeated by his own self. “Becca-” He exhaled deeply, running his hand through his beard before his arm fell to the table, his fingers gripping at his mug while trying to find the courage to relive that forsaken night.
It took a minute, but he eventually found his footing and kept going.
“I thought I had lost ya. I thought I was reliving one of the worst moments of my life.” He stopped, the memories of his past crawling into his skin with a ghosting ache. “I lost her, I lost my wife- now you-”
Once again, he cut his breath short, the last of his words hanging, like a noose around his neck. He turned away, his head facing the darkened view through the kitchen window on his right.
She had remained quiet, waiting ever so patiently for him to say his piece.
He swallowed the bile lodged in his throat, wanting to erase the decaying imagery from his mind.
His voice was hoarse when he spoke again, his gaze finding hers once more. “I told you, months ago, that I wouldn’t run if she got to you, that I would stay and not let her frighten me, but-”
“That was before she tried to kill me…” The compassion in her voice over took him, beating himself further into the ground.
“Aye.”
She leaned against the back of her own seat, hands on her mug as her fingers played with the string of her tea bag.
“I’m sorry for being a coward, for running away. I should’ve stayed-” The pace of his heartbeat was accelerating, matching the growing rhythm of his knee shaking.
“You’re not a coward.” She was still sympathetic, yet hurt.
“I left ya-”
“And you came back.” Her hand reached for him from across the table. The movement was quickly met by a quiet breath out of his mouth. “You’re here with me.”
“I’m so sorry.” He could feel the lump in his throat rising up with force and speed.
“Stop.” The word was gentle, wanting to calm him.
She got up from her chair and approached him just as he pulled her in. She sat on his lap, her left leg crossed over while the other dangled, her toes touching the floor.
She ran her fingers through his hair, still misted from the shower, until she held him by the jaw, her nails scratching softly at his beard.
She met his eyes, the dark colour drowned in guilt and self-wreckage.
It tore her apart.
“Oh, my love…” She muttered softly between their lips, wanting nothing more than to ease the misery that was haunting him.
She then kissed him, her lips pressed desperately into his.
His arms curled around her, pushing her closer to him, needing to erase any traces of open space between them.
She whispered ‘I love you’s’ within their shared breaths, revitalizing him like fresh air into his lungs. The caress deepened as hunger and longing thrived rapidly, catching up to them after weeks of being apart.
It was consuming every part of him.
He tightened his grasp around her, the pressure of her presence creating relief flooding through his veins.
From her lips, he then trailed down to her neck, attaching himself to her limb with desperation as he kissed every inch of her exposed skin.
She let him be, knowing it was reassurance that she was alive and not injured, that she was safe and sound in his embrace as she held onto him, bodies coating in heat and desire; the pulse residing under her jawline was the nectar to his survival.
The rest of the night had been soaked in adoration, in the dire need of drowning into each other and yield under bruising passion.
The couple fell back into their own little bubble, the rest of the world pushed far away.
It was just them; entangled in Fate’s strings, bound to one another.
He was lying on his back, his head placed at the junction of her chest and her left upper arm where her hand brushed his hair softly. His head tilted towards her, resting at the swell of her breasts, the sound of her heartbeat becoming the soundtrack to his lull state as a lazy smile formed on his lips.
The simplest of joy; he closed his eyes, memorizing the music that played through his ears, engraving the notes into his own heart.
She was on her left, her leg wrapped around her lover’s stomach, the sheets barely covering the naked skin.
Her nose against his hair, she breathed him in, the scent soothing her into pure calmness.
His left hand on her right thigh, he caressed her limb in an absent-minded manner; both of them savouring the elegance of this little interlude.
Her right arm, joint with his, their fingers kissed intimately while resting in the crevices between their bodies.
The moment stretched, their breaths were dancing under the silent melody.
Even the gods themselves, watching from the heavens in wonder, defined this moment as a masterpiece; the painting was etched under kaleidoscopic light, the movements of the brush calling out for romance as colours were formed by the tenderness of a lover’s touch. It could have been depicted by one of the greats; the tangle of limbs, the quietness of the seat, the posture of models sitting to be memorized in an everlasting picture.
It was tantalizing, alluring to the naked eye, how such simplicity could be bathed in pure, unadulterated, sense of love and devotion.
The warmth seeped through the bed sheets, lasting effect from the carnal heat coating the flesh.
And then the new day was rising, gracing its skies with the hues of budding spring.
They eventually fell back asleep, the heavy breaths evident in the air.
Though light shone above them where the window faced the bed’s headboard, the curtains still protected them from the sun’s glow, gifting the couple further moments of peace.
It was just them.
The universe’s tied shifted, as if the world momentarily stopped turning on its axis, gifting them peace.
Later the same morning, a few hours passing, they were still lying in bed.
Becca was the first to escape her slumber; she had woken up with sudden hunger cramping at her stomach.
She attempted to slip out quietly when she felt an arm snaking its way around her, pulling her back in just as quickly.
The smile came on naturally, glowing across her. He sneaked in closer, tickling her as he pressed soft kisses against her naked skin, from her breasts up to her collarbone before he lingered on her neck, and eventually meeting her lips.
She sighed into his touch, the feel of his hands traveling around her body making her forget for that one moment what she wanted to do.
She happily sunk into the sensation until hunger had cried out, echoing inside her.
She gently pushed him away, nudging her nose against his before she left her bed.
He watched her move as she grabbed his discarded shirt on her way out, her naked backside disappearing from his view.
He readjusted himself on the mattress, resting his back against the headboard, his chest bare with the sunlight warming him from behind.
He couldn’t help the smile that glued to his lips. Once she came back, it had widened, his heart swelling at her appearance; her hair was messy, his shirt hung from her body with her legs naked, the lingering traces of his hands imprinted on them. He could still feel the ghostly pressures of her limbs around his hips, over his shoulders, and the taste of them lingering sweetly across his tongue.
She stood in front of the bed, holding a spoon on one hand and on the other, a small pint of ice cream.
Finan frowned, intrigued by her choice of food. “Ice cream for breakfast?”
She sported a small smile, playfully challenging him. “Mhmm. Want some?”
A gentle gleam on his face, he stretched out his arm, calling for her. “Come here.” She shyly approached him until she was close enough to be pulled by the hem of his shirt, making her sit comfortably on his lap. She scooped up another serving and presented the spoon for him to eat; he took a bite, his stare stuck to her. He teased, the playful look in his eyes, palpable. “You’re a menace.”
She matched his energy all too easily. “That’s why you are naked in my bed.” She then took another mouthful of her dessert, letting the utensil linger between her lips, taunting him.
His eyes dropped to her mouth, his own going dry. A low rumble from his throat escaped him, his hands reaching for the shirt. “You look starved.” He pulled her closer until she was flushed against him, her breath tickling him. “Your fault.” The low whisper she shared invoked a smirk across his face. “Another round before lunch?”
Not giving her the chance to answer, he slowly wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her firmly, while his eyes never left hers; it had become a staring contest, some amusement to add to their morning.
She then yelped out of shock when she was so suddenly pushed against the mattress, her legs almost dangling off the bed as he hovered above her, still holding the small tub with one hand.
Giddy as a teenager, she chased his lips for a kiss until she felt something dripping on her skin.
She gasped, the sudden feel of the cold sending shivers down her spine. She quickly pulled away while trying to grab the dessert from Finan. “You’re making a mess!”
The moment of bliss had then been suddenly interrupted by a knock on the door. The laughers died out, Becca’s gaze moving away from Finan to where the sound had come from as it repeated.
Reluctant, she moved away, forgetting about the way she was presenting herself to the intruder.
Opening the door, she had the breath knocked out of her, shocked to see who stood in front of her.
“Mum.”
And just like that, the whole world came crashing down as time was torn away from its suspense, proceeding to weave its way through the universe and forcing the couple back into reality.
Her mother stood still at the entrance, her eyes peering over her daughter’s dishevelled look from the mess in her hair down to the large shirt she as wearing, forcing Becca to tug it further down to hide her embarrassment though the cloth was big enough to conceal any unwanted attention. The elder’s gaze then shifted to the background where she saw Finan, half-dressed himself with only sweats, as he leaned against a wall with his hands joint at the front while he sported a discerning look straight back at her - as if ready to jump, to defend Becca.
The daughter grew timid at her mother’s inquisitive look until the other woman spoke, wanting to bypass the moment she had obviously disrupted. “Rebecca.”
When she was about to speak, she stopped.
Something had changed; the aura was brighter around the couple, warmer.
Something new had come upon them.
The young witch jumped, desperate to cut the lingering short. “What are you doing here? Did something happen?”
“No, well not really…” Becca looked back at Victoria, confused. ���One of our elders had a vision of you. With her-”
“You were worried about me?” Furrowed brows, she was touched, an estranged feeling she was never able to associate with her mother.
Victoria ignored her question, the grip on her bag tightening as she gazed down. “Your father wanted me to bring you this. From her purse, she pulled out a ceramic urn encrusted with nordic symbols.
Becca gently took it in her hands, the item rough and old between her palms. “Freya’s urn?” From the urn, she lifted her head up back to her mother, not understanding the reason for the gesture. “How?”
“Marcus told us.”
She scoffed, leaning slightly against her door. “Didn’t waste any time, did he.” It was more of a comment than a question, a remark Victoria ignored, her heart tugging at her chest when quickly glancing between the couple again.
“You’re really going through this…”
It was stated as a matter-of-fact, her mind settling into an ungodly reality.
But like her, Becca was stubborn and determined, not wanting to give up. “Yes.”
Victoria’s gaze shifted up to Finan again, long enough for a swallow.
The thread tying the couple was strong, something she had hoped would never be.
From the Irishman, she looked back at her daughter, worry slowly scribbled across her facial features. “Are you sure about this? Do you understand what this would entail?”
“I am. And, I do.”
She sighed, her shoulders dropping as she knew she had lost the fight. “Then may the gods be with you.” She attempted reaching out, her hand placed on top her Becca’s, the affectionate gesture coming off as green. “Good luck, Rebecca.”
“Thank you, Mum.” She had a sad smile on her face, sported simply across the one corner of her lips.
Her mother grew hesitant, not sure on what to do next until she eventually pushed herself to walk away, giving her daughter one last look, tinted in sorrow, before leaving.
Once gone and the door had closed softly, Becca’s eyes turned back to the urn. It stood tall despite its small size and lightness, as runes were scribbled along the ceramic surface calling for the goddess to all witches.
She was lost in thought, her fingertips tracing the valuable artifact - believed to have disappeared from mortals and witches alike - until she felt Finan standing behind her, his arm around her shoulders as he gently pulled her in, kissing her hairline. “Ya alright?” His tone was low, worrisome.
“She cares…” She was speaking more to herself than anyone else, realization slowly dawning on her.
“Bex, love?” He remained concerned as he squeezed his hold on her, the frown on his face meeting the urn she still held. She lifted her head up, the sweetly nickname bringing her back to him, giving him a small smile of comfort. “I’m fine.”
“Ya sure?”
She nodded, humming in response. She then leaned again him, head against his chest where his warmth soothed her trough the twinge of pain that resided in her.
She felt him press his lips on the top of her head before letting her go. He grabbed the shirt she wore, tugging it his way, a teasing glint in his eyes catching her attention. “Come on, I think I know how to cheer you up.”
She chuckled at his comment, thinking he would be leading them back to the bedroom; he knew where her mind had gone, a playful grin plastered on his face. “Get your mind out of the gutter!”
Laughter had slipped from her tongue as she gave him a light backhand slap against his chest. She placed the urn on her kitchen table before reaching for the fridge, desperate to nibble of her dessert again.
Once the small chocolate pint stood in her hand, she took a seat on her counter with Finan quietly settling between her legs and watched her eat with appetite, a subtle grin capturing his lips.
From a spoonful seeping into her mouth, she lead the utensil towards him, giving him a bite while purposely leaving a trace of the ice cream on the tip of his nose. A low groan escaped his chest at her antics. He leaned in, pushing it back to her as he left his own stain. In response, she only giggled while he kissed her nose before she, herself, wiped away the small mess she left on him.
His hands, resting on her thighs, were stroking her skin tenderly, his mind focused solely on her; she reached for the cross he wore around his neck, her fingers tracing the Celtic patterns silently. His eyes stayed on her, in awe and taking in the features she bore while lost in thought once again.
Her arm stretched out, he reached for it, placing small pecks across her limb until he pulled her to the edge of the counter and went to kiss her lips.
She let him take the lead, her legs tightening around him as she fell into his loving caresses.
And slowly, they turned hungry. Small open mouth kisses traveled to her forehead, down her closed eyelid, and then down to her cheek before reaching her lips again. All the while, she revelled in his touch, loving the way he held on as his hand traipsed to her hair with the other slid under her shirt, his thumb brushing at her flesh.
She whispered sweet nothings to him, begging him with her life to ‘never stop’, to never end the tortuous pleasure he gifted her, to hold on and never let go; she strengthened her grip on him, the scenery shifting to simple wanton desire.
Desperate to give in to her craving, he pulled away, asking her softly with a lustrous voice. “Whatever it is you need to do. Does it have to be done today?”
“No. We don’t have to do anything today.” Her words were honey, sweetly coating his skin as she placed her hands on his cheeks, stroking his beard. He rested his head upon her chest as she curled her arms around his shoulders, her fingertips wandering on his back ever so gently. “Good.”
She felt him smile against her shoulder, leaving her to mimic the sentiment as she closed her eyes, his scent overwhelming her in the sweetest way.
The gleam lingering, she spoke to his ear, earning a low chuckle from his throat. “I would still like to eat as I am a bit peckish.”
“And you would think having such a substantial meal for breakfast would have been enough.” The cheeky tone made her laugh.
“I will not apologize for wanting something cold and sweet after a hot, hot night.” She teased, her fingers grasping a handful of his hair from the back of his head. He reciprocated her tone, taunting her. “Then bring that pint to bed, love.”
He grabbed her, pulling her off the counter. Just as he turned around, wanting to walk away, he slipped and swiftly fell straight on the floor, his back sliding across the cabinet doors. Having been in his arms, she ended on the ground as well, her legs over his as a heavy laugh escaped her lungs.
She resettled on his lap while Finan caught his breath. She placed her fingers under his chin, tilting his head to her. “Are you alright?”
A small smile on his lips, he caught the amused look on her face, making him chuckle lightly. “Yea, I’m fine. Was that funny to you?”
“Very funny.” She giggled once again, the sound slipping with her words, until it eventually died down, pushing herself flush against him. She ran her fingers through his hair, her hand trailing down his cheek. “Are you hurt?”
“No.”
She kissed him sweetly; a pleasurable groan came out of him as a response. “Mhmm, that’s better.” She repeated the gesture, his gentle smile growing wider. He wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her as he laid her down, her back resting on the kitchen rug.
A devilish smirk painted across his face, his eyes met her own as she felt the hem of her shirt pushed up.
A low grumble coming from the back of his throat, he spoke against her lips. “I’m starving, love.”
He nipped at her bottom lip, and felt his teeth against the pulse point on her neck. Her heart raced against her chest, anticipating where he would move next with heightened senses.
Her voice quivered, her words stumbling across her dry throat. “Lunch?”
His chuckle vibrated across her naked stomach, trailing his lips down her body as he looked up to her, the spark in his eyes igniting lustful cravings of his own.
“You read my mind.”
It was the dead of night when they reached their location.
The moon was casting her glow across the field, the couple bathing under her light.
Getting out of the car, they remained quiet as their hearts tremored within their chests, slight fear shadowing their movements.
Finan, closing the door, walked over to her quickly as he reached out for her hand. “Do you need me to come with you?”
“No.” It was softly said with no intended harshness, only simple tenderness.
“Does it really need to be done?”
She could hear the worry in his tone and feel it in his grip, her hand squeezed in slight fright. “I’m at the mercy of the gods, Finn.” She met his gaze, wanting to offer him nothing but attempted comfort. “I need to do this if we want their help.”
He exhaled a shaky breath, bringing her hand to his lips. “I wish you didn’t have to.” The gentlest of kiss, she watched him with renewed conviction.
“I know… I’ll be fine. Just wait for me here, please.” She couldn’t let him see what she needed to do, not wanting him involved in the specifics of the ritual.
He brushed strands of her hair away from her face, his eyes trailing across the couple of primroses that were embedded in her locks. His sight shifting back to her, he sighed once again, calming down the trembling inside him. “Be careful. I beg ya.”
“I will, I promise.”
He kissed her, his lips lingering against her own as he readied himself to let her go. However reluctant, he eventually did and pulled away, his gaze meeting hers once more as his heart ached.
He stood by the car, waiting as she disappeared from his sight, her body meshed within the darkness of the woods.
She held only a flashlight as a guide, her other hand pre-occupied with her wrapped up ingredients. Her steps bringing her further away from prying eyes, she was led to stand by a small stream, the running water creating some melody to the quiet surroundings.
A small altar stood further into the darkness, leaves and vines engorging the stones with the shadow of the moonlight seeping through ever so shyly. It was old in its age though never forgotten. Carved into the stone was the goddess of witchcraft, beautifully designed as if she was here herself; her stature stood tall, her long hair braided twice as they hung by her left and her right, knots hovered above her the way of a halo and at her feet rested her feline, watchful and protective of its owner.
Becca took her place, sitting on her knees, and opened her bag to fetch out her required items.
She started with a small athame, unthreatening in its design though still lethal in its purpose, the small urn her mother had brought her, runes contained in a drawstring pouch, three candles and homemade honey.
And then, hanging around her neck alongside her stone, was the Celtic cross; a piece of Finan.
The moon stood high above the altar, creating the perfect space for her ritual; it was as if the gods knew she was coming.
From the flowers intricately woven into her hair, she also placed a handmade bouquet on the altar, as well as the honey, pouring it into an offering bowl.
At the deity’s feet, previous offerings still lingered all around, making Becca’s seemed trivial.
Looking over her surrounding, taking everything in as she prepared herself to take on the next step, she inhaled deeply and closed her eyes.
Six seconds later, she breathed out, her body slowly relaxing.
Looking down, she picked up the first runes-carved candle and started calling out for the goddess in all her might as she lit up the wick.
To the second candle, one breath later, she repeated the process and called for Freya a second time; light came to be once again.
To the last one, one last breath later, Becca called out Her name again and was ready to light up the candle. Instead, it had done so by itself, on its own volition.
A gentle breeze glided through, its wind waking the leaves. The snow had started to melt with the shift of the seasons, making way for the grass to peak through the white coat.
Sitting up, she brought her hands to her lap, palms up.
Her amulet’s glow grew within the darkness, the purple hue giving purpose to her call.
And then, head up towards the carving, the language of the gods reverberated through her vocal chords, her words chanting and summoning the divine for a favour.
The force of the breeze increased, just a note above its predecessor, Becca’s hair following its dance.
She shut her eyes once more, her spell floating through her with plead. Her blood pumping rapidly through her veins, her magic swirled inside her the way a babe makes its presence known inside the womb.
As a humble servant, she called for balance, for strength, for help; to undo the chaos that had seeped its way through the earth, and to restore peace and heal Mother Nature from the disdain that was caused.
Her voice trembled within her throat, her body quivering from her words.
She reached for her runes, pulling three pieces; the gods were listening.
Becca continued with another breath slipping through her lips.
Dagger in hand, Freya’s urn sat in front of the young witch, its carcass void until soaked with drops of blood.
She then removed her amulet, holding it by its golden chain as it slipped inside the cup.
The Celtic knots had joined the ritual; borrowing Finan’s cross, she offered it to the goddess for a blessing, begging for peace to the owner’s soul. And just like her stone, the cross slipped inside the urn, coated within the witch’s power.
Tears had started their act, staining the corners of her eyes before silently trailing down her flushed cheeks.
An itching started to carve itself on her back, emanating a wail which escaped her with shortened breaths. Her spell interrupted, she could feel her birthmark burning her skin in searing pain, the symbol glowing in ember.
They were testing her willingness to sacrifice, she thought.
She could feel it.
The affliction deepened into her bone. She leaned forward, grasping at the hint of grass as her fingers dug through the earth with the muffled cries dripping through clenched teeth.
She could only push through - and so she did, with her heart racing, the muscle ached from the weight of the ritual.
She picked up wear she left off, calling for the gods once again in supplication.
The wind still alive with fervour, wrapped its arms around her, somehow easing the sting she was imbued with.
And then, for a split of a second, she felt naked - as if her powers had gone into the void and disappeared.
The candles shut off as quiet surrounded her, eerie and deadly.
The pain covering her shoulder blade was dissipating though left a ghostly trace of ichor running down her back.
And then, nature’s voice came back; the water of the stream brushing the rocks, the leaves grazing the trees, the crickets creating their music.
The wind had gone.
It was done.
Catching her breath, she sat back up with her head falling back. Her eyes met the night sky, the stars shining just a little bit brighter above her.
From up above, she then turned her gaze down to her hands, etched in blood, as they rested on her dress.
She remained still for a moment, her mind empty from thoughts while her eyes never left the scarlet stained skirt.
A little sniffle made it through the air, she rubbed her nose with the back of her hand, her cheeks dry from tears.
Flapped wings caught her attention.
Under the dark skies, she lifted her head up to meet a bird perched on a tree branch.
The falcon glanced downwards, its eyesight fixated on Becca; chills ran down her spine.
It then flew down, gravitating towards the god’s shrine where its sharp talons echoed against the stone as it marched towards the bowl full of honey.
A gentle song from its chest, she watched the predator bending over the offering, its eyes staring as its beak hovered above it, the sweet nectar filling its nose with delight.
One dip in, the bird then turned towards the bouquet.
The falcon lingered; between the ambrosia and the flowers, it did not seem offended by such gifts.
Anticipation arose in the pit of her stomach.
The animal then turned to her, tilted head as its sharp eyes stared at her with another song escaping its mouth. It was a gentle coo, melting into the night.
Becca awaited patiently.
Then majestic wings spread wide and far apart, the falcon’s head lifted up, calling at the present constellations; she slightly jumped at the suddenness of its movement, but none the less remained put, still waiting for the final verdict.
The bird, giving its attention back to her, stepped forward with its claws still on the ground. It stood in front of the urn, the head falling to that direction before leaning towards the rim, the beak disappearing inside.
The strings of her amulet and cross came into her sight; attached to its mouth, the falcon dropped both necklaces onto the woman’s lap.
Her sacrifice had been accepted by her god, her connection to Freya established.
It watched her, noticing tears layered across her irises. It gave her one last song, an affectionate coo, before backing away.
It moved to the altar again, pecking at the honey another for taste, before flying away and disappearing into the woods.
Becca stared at the jewelry pieces that covered her hands, her emotions getting the best of her once again.
She silently cried, overwhelmed by the events of her night. Her body growing heavier, she leaned forward until her forehead rested atop the wet grass with her arms wrapped around her stomach. She thanked the goddess, her whispers carried through another wave of gentle breeze, its hands drying her cheeks.
Once she felt well again, once relief was slowly grasping at her bones, she sat up and reached for the water bottle that rested inside her bag. She poured the liquid over her hands and dress, wanting to wash off any signs of the ritual before meeting up with Finan again as she did not want to scare him.
She cleaned her cuts, her stone, his cross, and proceeded to pick up her stuff, leaving the candles, honey and flowers behind.
She then undid her braid, removing the primroses that stood in there, and delicately placed them along side the bouquet.
She took one last moment for herself and got up, ignoring the weakness in her knees.
After almost digging a hole into the ground from his constant pacing, Finan finally saw her come back.
The suspense of waiting finally washing off him like a storm, ease gripped at him as he ran to her. The second she was at arm’s length, he pulled her in and curled his arms around her, nestling his nose into her hair.
And the second she was pressed against his chest, she dropped her bag, her arms instinctively wrapped around his waist, seeking comfort.
“Are ya alright?” He spoke with a soft undertone, the words almost muffled against her head.
“Mhmm.” It was all she could muster. He placed a kiss at the top of her head before pulling away slowly, wanting to look at her properly. “Is it done then?”
She nodded, exhausted.
“The empowerment ritual worked. All we have to do is wait for the call.” Her arms fell by the sides of her body as she offered him a tired smile. “She will let us know when it is time.”
Without a word, he leaned forward and pressed his forehead against hers. Heavy breaths out from his lungs, his thoughts were rapidly racing.
She felt the tension in his shoulders, the frown upon his brows. She did not move and only spoke, her voice low within his breath. “What are you thinking about? What’s on your mind?”
He took a moment before answering her. “You… You’re on my mind.” He broke the embrace, wanting to look at her again. The worry was palpable, tingling at her fingertips as they ran through his hair before settling across his jawline, stroking his beard. “She’ll find us out, won’t she?”
Becca nodded, her hues glued to his own; she could never tire of his eyes, of their emotional depth. “She will, and to be honest, I don’t care.” She quickly kept going, having seen his lips pursed to speak up. “They accepted my offering, Finn. I’m in.”
Sadness still rested in his brown’s, breaking her heart. She slid her arms to rest around his neck, brushing his nose with hers. She spoke softly. “Trust me. Have faith in me.”
“I do, Bex.” He kissed her, a simple stroke of his lips against hers. “I just don’t want all of this to take you away from me.”
Her doubts were crawling back into her mind, small whispers blowing through the wind, taunting her unworthiness to the cause. Day and night they haunted her, but after tonight, she had hoped they would vacate and vanish into thin air.
Another stroke of lips to lips, she lingered into him, tightening her hold around his neck as she felt his fingers digging into her waist, desperate.
Same as her.
And so she reluctantly pulled away, her hands trailing down to rest on his chest. Heartache in her stare, she looked up at him, her emotions seeping through her voice. ��I know. And I don’t want all of this to take you away from me either.”
“God, I love you.” He kissed her once more, the caress harsher and held with anguish as he clung to her.
She fell into his embrace, her knees buckling under the weight of the world. Her fingers grasped onto the fabric of his jacket, knuckles whitened at her strength. With a hint of despair, the melancholic feeling crippling her, she whispered her own declaration, her own feelings for him pouring out of her. “I love you too.”
He pulled away, his thumb tracing over her swollen lips. “I know ya tell me not to be worried. But I can’t help it… What if it’s not enough?”
She smiled at him, a simple and small upward curve from her left side. “Then I’ll find another way.” She was pushing through her fear - for him. “I’ll do whatever it takes. I’m not giving up.”
A moment of silence hugged them close. His eyes trailed from her own, down to her lips before settling over her amulet, the purple stone remaining in the dark without its glow, coupled with his cross.
He smiled.
“It suits you.”
She reached for the lace of the necklace and pulled it off, the golden crucifix shimmering under the moonlight.
“I like it better on you.” She placed the item around his neck, the cross resting on top of shirt.
He kissed her forehead once again, both of them ready to leave and head back to the cottage.
Stepping back to the car, she stopped herself at the ghostly sound tickling her ears. She peered around her, not seeing anything despite the haunting calls.
Furrowed brows, she turned her head back to Finan. “Are you hearing this?”
“Hearing what, love?”
She tried to decipher the noise, her eyes searching all around; her arm stretched towards him, she was reaching for him out of instinct. He quickly came to her, holding her hand while she remained elsewhere, her focus devoted to the faint calls.
A slight gasp escaped her.
“A babe, I think? I thought I heard a child…”
Finan looked around as well, confused. “There is no one but us.”
She shook the sound away, giving her notice back to the present as she started walking.
But once again, she stopped; a crinkle, a crunch of steps upon leaves pulled her away. Her hand still holding on to Finan’s, her halt echoed to him. He turned to see her back at him, her sight facing the woods.
A pair of golden flecks caught her attention. She stared into them until the figure came out of the shadows.
A wolf was staring at her, a mother with her cub. Her heart stopped, the colour of her cheeks draining.
How could she have known that her spell had summoned the animal, the distant call having been carried by the wind across the forrest? She stood still, forgetting for a moment where she was; Finan noticed, giving him worry. “Bex?”
She could not hear him, her focus solely placed on the gentle beast.
The cub, playful in its small size, was running between its mother’s legs and nibbling at her paws, her fur, anything to attract her attention. The longer Becca stared between both wolves, she could feel her heart starting to pick up its pace, racing against her chest as her breath was unable to leave her lungs.
“Becca?” Finan tried to follow her stare but saw nothing but void.
Only when he squeezed her hand, did she seem to have propelled back into reality. “Is everything okay? What were you staring at?”
Her eyes had remained on the mother, until the wolf nodded her way and disappeared with her babe in toe.
They held many meanings, representing two sides of the same coin. The question was, which side would befall on the witch and her lover?
“N-Nothing.” She turned back to him, shaking off the ill feeling creeping on her back. She placed her free hand on her stomach, swallowing the burdening nausea that left her perturbed.
Meeting Finan’s gaze, she gave him a reassuring smile, desperate to leave.
“Let’s go home.”
---------------------------
a/n: for those who watched BTVS S6E01 (Bargaining), the urn described in the chapter is pretty much based on that one :)
xoxo,
@fangirlninja67, @gemini-mama
#the last kingdom#finan#finan x oc#tlk fanfic#finan fanfic#finan the agile#tlk#mark rowley#finan fic#tlk fic#the last kingdom fanfic#Photo by Ksenia Yakovleva on Unsplash#the last kingdom fic#finan x ofc
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Chapter 31 features the weirdest intro to a porno you’ve ever seen + jealous Finan 😉
@geekandbooknerd @i-cordelia @prettythingsvs2 @itzmegaaaaaaan @joyofbebbanburg @misfitsandmuses @jessieray98 @inforapound @obtuse91 @thunderhawk727 @stupefyslytherin @scarletvhope @blah-blah-blah-bla @solinarimoon @morosemagick @emilyhufflepufftlk @persephones-journey @osferth @trenko-heart @lauwrite1225 @naaladareia
#the last kingdom#finan x oc#finan#sihtric#uhtred of bebbanburg#the last kingdom fanfiction#the last kingdom fanfic#finan x ofc#finan x original character#finan x reader
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Somebody to die for.
Finan x OC; The Old Guard inspired Alternative Universe
Summary : Victoria’s life is rather simple until she has a car accident from which she ends up miraculously unscathed. A series of weird events animates her daily life, everything seemingly bringing her to a strange man. Until this very man knocks at her door.
Spotify Playlist • Masterlist
A/N : Happy Finan Friday my friends! Alright it's still thursday to most of yall, but it isn't in France anymore and I was to excited to post to wait the morning lmaoo. I had so many good feedbacks on chapter one, you all can’t imagine how happy it made me! So as you noticed, I like to change the moodboard for each chapter, I hve fun making this ahah, I hope you all don’t mind!
Warnings : blood and death
Chapter 2 : There’s a truth and it’s on our side
Victoria blinks several times at the man standing right in front of her. Her eyes go down and up his body, analysing every inch of him and when she realizes he is wearing the same sweatshirt as the man in the bookshop, she’s panic-stricken. He doesn’t even have the time to say a word as she closes the door in his face and presses her back against it. Did this psychopath follow her to her home? She doesn’t see any other explanation, or maybe it’s just the one making the most sense. Because even if it's the guy from the bookshop, it doesn’t explain why he is the one she’s been dreaming of for a month now. Christ, things couldn’t get weirder.
She gathers all the courage she has and shouts through the door. “Who the hell are you?”
She hears the man scoff, the sound attenuated by the door. “Ya wouldn’t trust me if I tell ya like this.”
Her fingers nervously drum on her thigh. “Are you… Are you the “time traveller”?” This question would probably make her sound crazy, but a stranger knocking at your door after following you from your work place is undoubtedly crazier. The thought makes her realize that keeping talking to him maybe isn’t in fact the best idea, and as the man hesitates to answer, she looks around for her phone.
“Hum… Yes kinda.” He replies and Vicky freezes. He doesn’t even deny, which confirms her assumption that he really is mad. “But I’m not really a time traveler.”
Victoria frowns. “What do you mean?”
“That’s hard to explain to a door.” He jokes but Vicky doesn’t laugh, so he answers in a more neutral tone. “I think you and I are the same.”
“The same?” She repeats, her eyes finally falling on her phone. She walks aways from the door to take it from the table and leans against the door again.
She starts to type the number of the police when he speaks. “It’s goin’ to sound really weird. But… I’ve seen ya in my dreams.” Victoria immediately pauses, her thumbs hovering over the keyboard. Her breath strangely accelerates as she considers his words.
“How can I know you’re telling me the truth?”
“Ya’ve been in a car accident. That’s the first dream I’ve got of ya.”
Victoria is breathless. She has spoken to no one about it, only giving lies, affirming her car has been stolen. She doesn’t know if his answer should reassure her or not, but she switches off her phone and slides it in her pocket before unlocking the door and opening it just slightly. “How do you know that?” She asks him, her voice between fear and curiosity.
The man’s gaze is soft as he rubs the back of his neck. “Told ya, I dreamt of it. Maybe we could talk inside? It's better if there’s no one to hear us.”
Vicky hesitates, staring alternatively between him and the inside of her flat, until she finally moves away. Every part of her mind is screaming at her how bad an idea it is to let this strange, very strange man in, but her intuitions and curiosity are thinking otherwise. She has spent the weirdest month of her life, and something is telling her he would have the answers.
“What’s your name?” She asks, closing the door behind him.
“Finan.” He smiles. “And ya’re Victoria?”
She narrows her eyes at him. “I am.” She studies him from a decent distance, actually more like a safe one. He is every bit of the man she’s been dreaming of, tall, thick dark hair, a few scars on his face, strong shoulders and something she has grown to find endearing about him, his childish smile. She wonders if he knows she’s been dreaming about him as well, he would have probably already mentioned it if he did. “So, why do you think we are the same?” She asks, her arms crossed over her chest.
Finan looks around, as if to be sure that there is no one else listening. “I think you died during your accident.”
“What?” She exclaims, her eyes widening. “I wouldn’t be standing here if I was dead.” She answers, tilting her head at what seems to be obvious to her.
“That’s why I said you died.” He replies, insisting on the last word.
“So I came back to life?”
“Yes.”
“That’s the craziest shit I’ve ever heard.” She says in an awkwardly neutral tone.
Finan rolls his eyes. “Then you should have a wound, anything that would prove you’ve had a crash. T’was quite violent of what I remember.” He raises an eyebrow and Vicky finds nothing to answer. He is right, she is miraculously alive, but the blood she found in the car and on her clothes doesn’t match that reality.
“How do you know all of that?” She asks again.
He moves forward but she immediately steps back. “I told ya, I think we’re the same. I died several times before.”
Vicky’s face twists in disbelief. “I can’t believe that.” She says.
The man sighs, his shoulders falling heavily and looking up to the ceiling. “I guess I don’t have another choice than to make ya believe me.” He puts his hand in his pocket and removes a folding knife from it.
“What are you doing?” She panics, stepping back even more.
He raises his hands in sign of peace. “Calm down, I won’t hurt ya.” He promises.
However, he unfolds the knife and to Victoria’s surprise he doesn’t try to attack her, but brings it to his neck. Finan takes a deep breath and murmurs something before sinking the blade in his throat, grimacing at the pain that occurs. A scream of horror escapes her as he falls to the floor, blood coming out of the wound and his mouth. She rushes to his side, removing the knife and pressing her hand on his throat to stop the bleedings.
“No, no, no, no… Stay with me, please.” She freaks out while Finan is bleeding to death on the floor of her flat, gasping for air. He holds her gaze, and in contrast to the time she dreamt of his death, he seems calm. With her other hand, she tries to find his pulse, but there’s nothing. “No…” She whispers, breathless. “No, no, no! You can’t be dead!” She starts to shake his shoulders and as he remains inert, she grabs her phone in her pocket and starts to tap the emergency number, trying not to tremble too much.
But before she can press on the green button, Finan takes a deep breath as if he is coming out of the water. Surprised, she drops her phone and falls back. He coughs several times, spitting blood as he sits up. Victoria can’t keep her wide opened eyes from him, especially when she notices how the wound in his neck heals by itself in a minute until there’s nothing, not even a scar. He wipes the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand and looks at the red puddle around him.
“Hum… Sorry for the mess.” He apologizes as his eyes meet hers.
But Vicky can’t care less. “You were dead, and you’re fucking alive.” She whispers, not believing what she just witnessed.
“D'ya trust me now?” He asks her.
Vicky opens her mouth, but no sound comes out of it. She rubs her face with both her hands, not caring about the blood still on them. None of this makes sense, but it is undeniably real. “How did you do that?” She questions him, removing her hands.
Finan's gaze darkens for a brief moment. “I wish I knew.” He stands up, stretching his arms and her mind still can't grasp the fact that a few minutes ago he was dead. He walks towards her but he keeps the same distance she has settled before. “But I'm sure the same happened to ya.”
Victoria looks up to him and there's some sort of joy sparking in his eyes to know she is like him and she wonders if until now, he has been the only one like this. She frowns, she knows nothing of him, but in a short time, he has revealed her every secret of what she could only call a superpower, and she feels like he deserves to know everything as well.
“I dreamt of you too.” she says softly and it's Finan's turn to stare at her with wide eyes.
He crouches in front of her. “Really?”
She shakes her head up and down vigorously. “I saw your death too. But you were wearing a leather armour, fighting in a clearing during the night.” Finan's face becomes as pale as a ghost as she explains her own dreams. “And then you're stabbed from behind, and I can feel all the pain, how the life is leaving your body.” She is quite surprised she succeeds to actually put words on it, thinking of it still giving her thrills. “I dreamt of other things, during other periods of time, but you’re always there.” She concludes, looking up from her bloody hands to him. “What does it mean?”
“I’ve no idea.”
They both say nothing for a moment, simply trying to understand all the information. Everything seems so surrealistic to Vicky but she can’t deny all of this somehow makes sense. She sighs, like it could clear her confused thoughts and looks at the amount of blood on her floor.
“Hm… I think I should clean that.” She says, pointing vaguely at the area.
Finan looks behind him, grimacing. “Aye, let me help ya with that.”
“Sounds fair after you killed yourself in my entrance.” She adds as she rises to her feet, Finan doing so as well, chuckling lightly.
She walks to a closet and comes back with a mop and a bucket. While she fills it with hot water and a little bit of cleaning soap, she discreetly observes Finan. It’s really strange to see him in a modern outfit after dreaming of him so many times in Middle Age clothes. She frowns, this thought bringing a new question.
“I have a question.” She declares, stepping towards him with the bucket while he grabs the mop she has leaned against a chair.
“Ask it.” He sinks the mop into the water and wrings it out while waiting for her question.
“When did you die?”
The corner of his mouth rises. “I told ya, I died many times.”
Vicky rolls her eyes. “I mean the first time.”
Finan pauses, stopping to clean her floor, his eyes darkening as earlier. “Sometime during the ninth century.” He answers finally.
She makes a strangled sort of noise. “The ninth century? You’re what? A thousand years old? You look barely thirty!”
“I guess I should take that as a compliment.” He chuckles but Victoria isn’t in the mood to share a laugh.
“Oh fuck me, you must be kidding me.” She sighs, sitting on the nearest chair. “Are you the only one like this?” She hesitates on a word that describes what she means but can't to a better one than : “Immortal?”
Finan shrugs. “As far as I know, there was just me until now.”
“So we are two.” She points her finger at her chest and then his. “Just you and I.” He nods, pinching his lips in a thin line while she shakes her head. “That's fucking insane.”
“You're tellin' me!” He exclaims exaggeratingly.
But again Victoria ignores his attempt of jokes to ask another question. “How did you find me?”
His cheeky smile fades and he leans on the handle of the mop. “Well, in my dreams I could see moments of your life and I just tried to put all the pieces together.”
“That's creepy.”
This time he is the one rolling his eyes. “Trust me lass, when you'll have kept living for a millennial, being creepy will be the least of your problems.”
“So it was you in the bookshop?” He nods. “And you followed me?”
“I did.” He admits, finished with cleaning the floor. “Alright, maybe it really is creepy.” Victoria raises her eyebrows, as if she's surprised by his affirmation. “But it never happened to me before, and I just… I just had an intuition.”
“Well, it's maybe the least weird thing you told me since you knocked at my door.” She sighs taking the bucket and the mop from his hands to empty it in the toilets. When she comes back after putting everything back into the closet she pays more attention to the blood staining Finan's sweatshirt and her own clothes. “I should change clothes.” She says, pulling the edge of one of her sleeves, already annoyed by the time it will take to clean it correctly. “I must have something for you.”
Finan raises, probably doubting any of her clothes could fit him as she is a head smaller than him.
“From my ex.” She answers, clearly having read his mind.
“Ah, yeah. Thank ya.”
She walks away to her bedroom, taking the first clothes she finds and changing, making a pile of the dirty ones. Then she pulls out of a drawer a sweater from her ex that she hasn't thrown away yet. Before coming back to the living room she stops in the bathroom to wash her hands and face from the dried blood. The water is enjoyable, the only thing constant during this day where all her truths are being riled. She stares at her reflection in the mirror, meeting her own green eyes.
“Maybe it's just a dream.” She says softly and brings her finger to her mouth. She bites in it, hard enough to break the skin. She hisses when she tastes a drop of blood on her tongue. It wasn't a dream.
Suddenly, knocks at her door startle her and she bursts out of the bathroom. Finan is still in the middle of the living room, looking between her and the door. He looks as panicked as her and Vicky points at the room she just walked out of.
“Hide in the bathroom.”
Finan doesn't object, grabbing the sweatshirt she hands him on his way. Once she has heard the door of the bathroom closing behind him she rushes to the front door and slowly opens.
“Becca? What are you doing here?” Victoria asks after recognizing her best friend.
Rebecca raises a surprised eyebrow. “You seem pleased to see me. I texted you I was coming.” She says, waving the hand with which she's holding her phone.
“Oh… I'm sorry, I didn't really check my phone.” Victoria rubs the back of her neck. “Anyway, what do you want?”
Rebecca narrows her eyes, warning her that she's sounding weird, so she straightens a little and plasters her best smile on her face.
“I forgot my gym bag here, yesterday. I just wanted to get it back.”
“Yeah, sure.” Victoria moves away from the door and Becca steps in, patiently waiting for her best friend to come back with the bag.
She searches in the living room but she becomes pale when she hears a noise from the bathroom. “Is there someone else here?” She hears Rebecca ask.
At the time she answers, she has found the bag and is walking back to her, quite nervous. “No.” She replies dryly and oh, how bad she is at lying, especially to Rebecca.
Her friend's face breaks into a mischievous smirk. “Are you hiding a boy?”
Vicky stares at her with wide eyes before scoffing. “Absolutely not!” She hands her the bag quite abruptly. “Here's your bag. Do you need anything else?”
The tan skinned woman studies her for a second, no doubt knowing she's lying and Vicky is sure will probably hear of it in the following days. “No, that's all.”
As soon as she's gone, Victoria heaves a sigh and turns around when the bathroom door opens.
Finan's head appears from the small opening. “Am I the boy she's talking about?”
“Obviously not, you're a thousand years old, old man.” She snaps, joining him.“The hell were you doing?” She pronounces her last words slower as she notices that he is standing bare chested in front of her, his skin covered with scars. She tries to keep her gaze on to his face, the blood now washed away from his beard and neck. “Doesn't matter. Get dressed.”
Vicky waits patiently in the living room for Finan to come back. When he comes back he’s wearing an uncomfortable smile, one of his thumbs jammed in his trousers pocket while he has his dirty sweatshirt in his other hand. There’s an awkward silence but Vicky couldn��t care less, sitting on a chair, her elbows resting on her thighs and her hands sliding into her hair. Finan comes closer to her and gently puts his hands on her shoulder, she doesn’t push him away, even if she wouldn’t usually allow such proximity with a stranger.
“Maybe I should let ya alone, so ya can process everythin’.” He says softly and when she lifts her head his gaze is as soft as his voice. She nods and he squeezes her shoulder before stepping to the fridge and writting something on a post-it glued on it. “That’s the hotel where I sleep, if ya need anythin’.”
“Thank you.”
He leaves right after, and somehow, Vicky hoped that as soon as he’d leave things would appear to be just a big joke. But she looks at the finger she bit earlier and there is no mark of her teeth, no wound. Her skin is as soft and healthy as usual.
A/N : This chapter’s dialogues are clearly the base of this fic, espacially the “a thousand yo??!!” sksks, or Finan killing himself, as @maggiescarborough told me : a real drama queen. Anyway, see you next week for the next chapter ;)
Tag : @obipoelover @for-bebbanburg @naps4bats @osferth @maggiescarborough @finansarms @dumbledoreisnotmyhubby
#The Last Kingdom#finan the agile#finan#fanfiction#tlk fanfiction#finan tlk#somebody to die for#Finan x OC#finan x ofc#the old guard
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Lost Voices | Chapter 20
"It doesn't hurt me.
Do you want to feel how it feels?
Do you want to know that it doesn't hurt me?
Do you want to hear about the deal that I'm making?"
TAGGED:
@solinarimoon @emilyhufflepufftlk @magravenwrites @lauwrite1225 @93xdiagonxalley @trenko-heart @illjustgositinthecorner @blah-blah-blah-bla @lizblogging @saint-helga @osferth @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @filliandkili @mrsalwayswrite @amuddleofnervouswords @medievalfangirl @persephones-journey
#the last kingdom#tlk#finan#mcloveproductions#finan the agile#fanfiction#read on ao3#sihtric x ofc#sihtric x oc#Ingrith#time travel au#lost voices#yes I'm using Kate Bush again sue me
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Does anybody have any good suggestions for some Uhtred of Bebbanburg x Reader (OFC) or Finan x Reader (OFC) or Sihtric x Reader (OFC) to read? I’m in the mood, after binging for the third time in the past year. What can I say? I have a thing for Vikings.
#uhtred of bebbanburg#uhtred of bebbanburg x reader#uhtred of bebbanburg x ofc#finan x reader#finan x ofc#sihtric#finan#sihtric x reader
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